Reversal
by bipping
Summary: But now the lines were blurring together, the colours blending into one that he neither knew nor cared the name of. Now he found himself wondering who saved the hero.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

Okay, so I know it's Christmas, and everyone else wants to read happy Christmas related stuff, but I can promise you, there is nothing Christmas-sy in this. Quite contrarywise, there's school in this one! Gasp!

I've never uploaded a chapter story before, so this is kind of practice. I don't care if everyone hates it, I'm still gunna upload the next chapter, because I have it written down on paper.

This is totally rated T for later chapters, because I know for a fact there's a load of swearing on the next chapter. There may be other, darker stuff in later chapters, but I don't wanna give anything away.

Yeah, I don't own Hetalia. It sucks, but did you really think I owned it? Seriously? Am I gonna be writing fanfiction on a computer that sucks and doesn't have spellcheck without my glasses, because I only have one pair of broken glasses? Obviously not.

That brings me too: expect spelling and grammar mistakes, because I lost my glasses and my computer has no spell-check. Because it sucks.

Also, the characters this says it's about are America and Canada, but there is no Americest. There will never be Americest.

Sucky title is sucky. Maybe it will mean something...or maybe it just sucks.

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><p>He was not going to stand back and let his brother die.<p>

The idiot clearly hadn't looked before crossing the road. If he had, he would have noticed the God-knows-how-many-tonnes lorry that was speeding towards him.

It was going to hit him.

He was not going to stand back and let his brother die.

He may never have done anything eventful, worthwhile or noticable in his life, but he was not going to stand back and let his brother die.

And so he ran.

Running had never been something he was any good at (not that he was any good at anything, he thought bitterly), but speed came from his desperation to save his brother. Along with speed came a newfound agility. He weaved his way through a crowd of students, all dressed in the same uniform, and yelled his brother's name.

It seemed like his efforts were going to be in vain. He wasn't gonna make it. His brother was going to die. He was going to lose his brother.

He'd lost everything; every race he'd ever ran, every competition he'd ever entered, but that paled in comparision to human life. This was one thing he refused to lose.

He pushed his brother sharply to the side. He had just enough time to watch him tumble to the ground before his world went dark in a blaze of pain.

...

Alfred woke with a jolt. He found himself sitting upright in the dark. A squinted glance told him that it was forty-two minutes past two. He lay back on his side, and pulled his covers up.

But he wouldn't go back to sleep.

Blue eyes wide open and close to tears, he knew there was no way he'd go back to sleep.

The cogs in his mind kept turning. Everyone- the doctor, his therapist, his parents- said it was normal to revist the day of the accident in his sleep.

But...Why did he keep seeing it from Matthew's point of veiw?

He never dreamt it the way he remembered it; being too focused on yelling at the British boy stood a few meters aways from him him to look across the road, being too focused on what he was going to yell at said British boy, who had been holding two fingers up at him, to hear his brother yelling at him to stop, and then hitting the ground and passing out. He always dreamt it as Mattie. It was like, in his dream, he was Mattie. He heard all the things Mattie heard, saw what Mattie saw, and, most unnerving of all, thought what Mattie had thought.

His therapist had said that he was staring to see his brother as a hero- a fact he'd scoffed at, because HE was the hero- and that, because he had a large hero complex, his mind was "trying to create Mattie's final heroic moment from the point of view of the hero, as opposed to the damsel in distress."

She didn't understand. It was like he was Mattie in these dreams.

Another thing that bothered him was that it was his fault all of this had happened, and heroes don't make trouble, they prevent it. They also don't get saced from certain death by their little brothers.

Maybe he wasn't such a hero after all.

He immediatley hated himself for thinking it, but he slowly realsied this was how everyone else felt. He always boasted about how he was the hero, how he saved those in need, yet it was his brother, not him, who was lying comatosed in a hospital bed somewhere, because he's saved his life.

It felt quiet without Mattie. Not that the boy made a lot of noise in the first place. He enjoyed his own company and spoke in a gentle tone barely more than a whisper. Alfred had never really noticed him. And yet, now he ws gone, he felt the distinct lack of his brother. It was like, though he'd never really noticed his prescence, he'd always been aware of it. And now there was no Mattie he was overwealmed by his absence.

He felt guilty. Had he only paid the slightest bit more attention...if that idiot Arthur hadn't been distracting him with their stupid arguement...he would've noticed the truck. He wouldn't have needed saving, and Mattie wouldn't be-

Well, there was no denying it. There was a high probability his brother would die.

And that would be his fault.

And this was the real question that kept him up at night: What kind of hero let his little brother die for him?

He'd always thought the world was definite. There were those who were rescued, and those who did the rescuing. There was always a hero, a villain and a damsel in distress. But now the lines were blurring together, the colours blending into one that he neither knew nor cared the name of. Now he found himself wondering who saved the hero.

Because someone had to. A hero couldn't look out for themselves all the time. They had a sidekick.

So that made Mattie his sidekick, right?

He rolled onto his back and stared intensly at the ceiling, like it held all the answers.

Mattie wasn't his sidekick. Mattie was his hero.

...

Alfred hadn't realised he'd fallen asleep until he heard his dad yell, "Al, I'm going to work now! Take care at school!"

He blinked his eyes open. If his dad was leaving for work, his alarm should have gone off about ten minutes ago. But it hadn't.

He woke to a room that was unfamiliar to him. "Oh God," he grumbled.

He'd done it again. This was, what, the fourth time? And he didn't even sleepwalk! Yet he went to sleep in his bed, and woke up in Mattie's.

The room was so different to his. The walls were a crisp white, the carpet clean, not decourated by dirty jeans and soda stains. The bookshelf held real books, with hard spines and fancy names. His textbooks had been filed away neatly on the bottom shelf of the bookshelf, they were not strewn across his desk and over flowing onto the floor, as Alfred's were. Mattie's desk had a computer monitor, a notebook, a pencil and an empty glass resting upon it. Nothing else. His wardrobe had not been subjected to four or five years worth of doodles, photos and the like. Nothing had been pined, cellotaped, blu-tacked or glued to the woodwork. It had a coat-hanger resting upon one of the handles.

The room wasn't really bursting with personality. There was nothing that made it stand out from any other room in the world. And, Alfred hated to think it, there was nothing really to make Mattie stand out from anyone else in the world.

Except for the fact Mattie had been willing to give his life to save his brother.

Alfred pushed himself out of Mattie's bed, and trugged back into his own room. He pulled on his shirt, half-gearedly attempted his tie, threw on his jumper, shoved on his trousers, and shot a dirty look at the blazer he was going to force into his bag until a teacher made him trade his bomber jacket for it.

Once dressed, he made his wasy donwstairs. He took a seat at the table. His mother, who was packing a lunch she'd take into work, grabbed a bowl, some cereal and a carton of milk, placing them on the table for him to sort out. As a force of habit, she also grabbed a bottle of maple syrup, and placed alongside the cereal, before realising there was no Mattie there to put it on his pancakes.

A fresh wave of shock ran over her, and she took a seat near Alfred. "You don't have to go to school today, if you don't want to," she said, smiling sadly. He shook his head as he had everytime she made this offer. School was a distraction; right now, he needed a distraction.

Once, this was exactly how it had been; just him and his mom. When he and Mattie had been three (they were twins, but Alfred was a good hour or two older, and would never let Mattie forget it), his parents had spent so much time argueing they decided to split. Just for a little bit, they told each other. They just thought they needed a break. His dad had taken Mattie, and the two of them had left.

Alfred couldn't imagine what this must have done to the three-year-old him, having his brother and best friend, the boy who had been with him since he was born, suddenly taken away from him, along with his father.

Of course, it had been far worse for Mattie, being taken from his brother, his mother, his home. And then again, when they were seven, the new life he and his father had made for themselves in Canada had been ripped from him.

Mattie had never shown any resentment towrds Alfred for being the one who stayed, but Alfred realsied now he'd never even thought to ask Mattie what Canada was like, if he had friends there, if he missed it. he might be in contact with friends in Canada, and meet up with them every couple of weekends, and Alfred wouldn't even know.

He couldn't believe he was only realising this now. He knew so little about his own brother it actually hurt. He was beginning to understand he was a lousy excuse for a sibling.

And yet his brother had saved his life, knowing it would cost him his. He didn't understand. Mattie wasn't driven by an unexplainable urge to be a hero, as Alfred was. Mattie was Mattie; laid back, calm, cool. He didn't fold under pressure, he didn't get angry for no reason, and he didn't-

He was hit by the sudden inescapable idea that Mattie had wanted to lose his life. The boy wasn't one to complain, but that didn't mean he had nothing to complain about. Alfred knew he was practically being stalked by that French pervert, as well as sometimes being picked on by that stupid Communist bastard. He had no idea what else was occuring in his brothers life. Mattie could go to Hell and back every day, and Alfred would be none the wiser.

"Mom," he started quietly. She looked up, surprised by his gentle tone, almost expecting it to be Mattie speaking. "Do you think he was happy?"

"What do you mean Al?" she asked, confused.

"Mattie; d'you think he was happy?"

"Why wouldn't he have been?"

Alfred pushed soggy wheat around his bowl for a bit, deciding on the best answer. "We, he kinda jumped in front of a lorry for me-"

"Oh Al," she sighed, her sad little smile returning, and the eyes so like his filling with worried tears, "you brother did that because he loves you, not because he's suicidal."

He realised his mother was speaking in the present tense, whereas he had been speaking in the past, like it was over.

It wasn't over.

"Hurry up and get ready," she rose from her seat. "We wanna leave in about twenty minutes."

...

Their school wasn't anything special. He supposed it was one of the few in the area with a uniform, and yeah, most of the students had issues, but it wasn't amazing. It had many exits, entrances and car parks, a feature he was growing fonder of every day. He couldn't bring himself to walk past where it had happened. Arthur had told him that people had left flowers and shit ("No, not shit, Alfred, you idiot! I mean shit as in the generalisation! People have left flowers and stuff by where your brother, well, you know. That's what I meant by shit, you tosser!") along the fences of the road, but Alfred didn't know if he liked that or not. Mattie wasn't dead.

Yet, added the little voice at the back of his head that he wished he could turn off. Mattie isn't dead yet.

Shut up, he commanded, kissing his mom goodbye, slinging his bag over his shoulder, and slamming the car door.

He had assembly that morning. He was dreading it. He hated assembly anyway, but since he had it on a Tuesday, and the accident had been Thursday, he knew he was going to hate this one even more.

He was right.

His Head of Year began by talking about road safety, but slowly moved on to the speech Alfred knew was coming. It was similar to the one that had been read out in Church on Sunday (no, he wasn't uber religious or anything. He just went to Church. Sometimes. If he could be bothered. Which is really what Christianity is all about, isn't it? Okay, no, but still). It began with something along the lines of "Last Thursday, as I'm sure most of you are aware, there was an accident outside the school, in which a student, in an attempt to save another students life, was almost killed," and he imagined it would end with something like, "Our thoughts should be with the boy and his family in this hard time. Please, bow your heads and take a moment to think about how lucky we all are."

He felt his hand reach out and grab that of the British boy to his left. Said British boy (the same one he'd been fighting with, causing the accident) surprised him by holding his hand and squeezing it reasuringly.

"It'll be fine, love," he whispered gentley. "Matthew'll be fine."

Alfred nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He assumed that, should he speak, his voice would crack. He was a hero, he told himself, and heroes don't cry.

Arthur seemed to sense how much Alfred needed him at that moment, and didn't let go of his hand. He held it in his for the remainder of the assembly. Even though he disliked public displays off affection, he still held Alfred's hand, and he'd would never know just how much that meant to him.

But Alfred supposed it wasn't like they had anything to hide; the entire school was completely aware that they were dating, just as they were aware that Natalia was stalking Ivan and that Lovino's angry cussing was really just his way of telling the Spanish idiot who followed him around all the time that he loved him. They just respected them enough not to make a huge deal out of it.

Well, most of them did. Alfred was completely aware that one of his closest friends, Kiku Honda (or Honda Kiku as he liked to call himself), who was sitting behind him, next to a stone-faced German with an Italian attatched to his arm, had whipped out his phine and snapped a quick picture, which he had probably sent to Elizaveta.

A small, excited squeal of joy to the other side of the room confirmed this theory.

It amazed him that, all around him, life was still going on, as per usual. No one was listening to the stern balding teacher as he ranted about uniform and school expectations, except perhaps Arthur. Behind him, Feliciano was invading Ludwig's personal space, to his right somewhere Francis was invading Michelle's personal space, and on the other side of the hall, Natalia had murdered Ivan's personal space by slicing it to peices with a blunt axe.

Everything was completely normal; this Tuesday was no different to any other Tuesday.

Except the seat to his right was vacant.

There was no Mattie where Mattie should be.

Alfred worried that there would never again be a Mattie where Mattie should be.

* * *

><p><strong>Extended an:**

How was that for a first chapter? Powerful stuff right? Well, maybe not, but I liked it.

If you find any spelling mistakes, feel free to point them out. I'll attempt to edit them.

I apologise for any OOC-ness you may find. I felt like England was a little bit too nice to America...but yeah.

Not that I'm expecting you to care that much, but I'll try to have the next chapter up sometime between Christmas and the new year.

Merry Christmas all!


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:**

God, what kind of person am I, on fanfiction on Christmas morning? One who got a laptop for Christmas! Dudes, not that any of you care, but these means I can upload more! And I can do it more often! And I'm gunna get to work typing up some of my other chapter-fics. It's gunna be totally awesome!

So anyway, second chapter! First time I've ever done it! And on Christmas too! This is totally my Christmas present to myself.

Allergy Advice: Warning, chapter may contain traces of USUK, Frananda, PruHun and Spamano.  
>Recipe: Cannot guarantee yaoi free<br>Factory: Added swearing, OOC-ness, jumping to conclusions, self-conflict (very different to self-harm. Basically it's just a one-sided argument that happens in a characters mind), paranormal shit, bad spelling and grammar.

Yeah, so I had a basic idea when I started this. Now I know what's gunna happen, how it's gunna finish, ect. ect. When I began, I don't know if I really wanted to go in this direction, but it appears I've gone there anyway. This is gunna probably end up being a sort of fantasy type thing. Yeah. I imagine there'll be magic in, I dunno, chapter four or something. Maybe.

My Christmas wish didn't come true. I did not wake up this morning as Hidekaz Himaruya, which I suppose is a blessing in disguise, because if I were Hidekaz Himaruya, I would own Hetalia, and then it wouldn't be fanfiction, it'd be official, and, as cool as that is, I do not have the creativity to create anything anymore.

* * *

><p>It had been an exceptionally crap day, but then again, Thursdays always were. Physics, which was an awful boring lesson anyway, was basically an hour of trying to avoid Francis and his wondering hands. He had the same issue with PE, which, in all honesty, was even worse, because he actually had to get changed in the same room as Francis. He could just about take IT, even if it meant he had to sit between Natalia and Ivan. He thought that was the biggest flaw in seating plans in the entire history of seating plans. Natalia would glare at Ivan, Ivan would try to ignore Natalia, the two would argue across him like he wasn't there, and he would choke on the awkwardness of the whole situation. He could handle English; the only idiot he had to put up with then was his brother. And since his brother had ditched him to sit with Arthur, he was fine. History was the only lesson he really liked, but it didn't make up for the exceptional crapness of the rest of the day.<p>

As usual, the bell had rang and the crowds had swept him away from an exit and towards the bus park. He somehow managed to make his way out of the screaming wave of students, and towards an exit.

It was just by chance that this exit happened to be the same one which Alfred and Artur were argueing outside of.

Somewhere to his left he heard Gilbert cackle and ask what the fight was about, to which Francis had replied, "Mon ami, can you not see that this is a lovers' quarell?"

Arthur had heard this, and turned around to yell, "We're not bloody lovers, you wanker!" before storming off. He appeared to ignore whatever Alfred had yelled at him. He crossed the road, glancing left and right as he did. Upon reaching the other side, he shouted something that escaped him at his brother, holding two fingers up at him.

Infuriated, Alfred had stepped into the road.

He forze. There was a lorry speeding towards his brother.

Oh God, Alfred was going to die.

He was not going to stand back and let his brother die.

...

"Alfred, for God's sake, will you wake up and stay awake?"

"Wh-what?" Alfred blinked himself awake, realsing that he was Alfred, not Matthew, that it was Tuesday, not Thursday, and that school had just began, not just ended. "I was asleep?"

Arthur rolled his eyes, but his scowl softened slightly, and his voice became gentler. "For the third time this lesson."

"Oh." He hadn't been aware that he'd fallen asleep once.

"Are you sleeping alright? At home, I mean, because you seem to be doing a bloody good job of falling asleep over my essay."

He lifted his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "Dude, I'm fine. Don't worry."

"Well, in that case, could you fall asleep over someone elses character study, because I'd like to pass this sub-"

"Sure Artie, whatever you want." Alfred placed his arms on the table, then burried his head in them. His closed his eyes.

He heard the Englishman sigh, but he couldn't tell whether it was in amusement of exasperation. To be honest, he wasn't entirely sure what exasperation was, but he felt that he caused the Brit to do an awfully high ammount of things exasperatedly. Hm, that was a fun word. He wondered if it was a real word. Could people do things exasperatedly, or did they have to do things in exasperation? He considered asking Athur, but he knew that his response would probably be a patronising eye roll and a yelled, "I'M NOT A BLOODY DICTIONARY!"

He opened one eye and watched Artur's pen glide swiftly across his page. Arthr had writing that Alfred could never distingish between messy and neat. He supposed it was neat in a messy way. But the way Arthur worked was rather impressive. Words were apearing on the sheet at an impossibley fast rate, a shrp line bisecting anything he disliked. It reminded Alfred of Arthur himself; neat and organised on the outside, scruffy and slightly insane on the inside.

Actually, Alfred was insanely proud of using his handwriting as a metaphor to describe Arthur. He pulled his exercise book to him, and sat up. He unzipped his pencil case and fumbled about in there, attempting to find a working pen, for, despite the fact his pencil case was complete to bursting point, he only really had one pen that worked. And, it was an English lesson, and Arthur and everyone else seemed to be writing Character Studies, so surely...

He uncapped his pen. Arthur raised an admittedly rather large eyebrow at the concept of Alfred doing work, but said nothing.

Alfred began to write. he didn't know how much he intended to write, but soon found himself with a decent paragraph. And he kept writing. It was almost as though the peice was writing itself.

"_His handwriting varies. In the space of a sentance it can go from looped cursive to a hurried illegible scrawl. In the space of a sentance, his words can go from gentle to hurtful, from clean to explict, because, though every morning he dresses himself like a gentleman, the "gentlman" he is dressing is actually a fool-mouth delinquint. For som reason, he hides his totally epic rebellous side behind his goodie-two-shoes, just like his beautiful handwriting appears to be writing about a rapist. well, that's a pleasant character for him to chose to describe. That must show something about his personality, right? That, out of all the characters in this book, he wants to write an essay on a rapist clearly shows...something. Sometimes his handwriting is just plain huge, like his eyebrow, his hair scruffy, like his handwriting becomes. and now he's reading this over my shoulder, and I've run out of things to write about, and he would've written much better in that handwriting that defines him perfectly."_

Arthur plucked the pen from Alfred's hand, and wrote, "_First of all, he is NOT a rapist, he is a pirate_."

He shrugged. Grabbing a pencil, he wrote underneath that, "_Pirate, rapist, same difference."_

This earned him an eye roll. Arthur scribbled, "_So what does your handwriting say about you Jones?"_

Alfred looked at his handwriting, and realised it looked different. His handwriting was usually larger than life, like, him, and always took up more room than it needed to. Arthur was always scolding him for it.

This handwriting, was small, neat. He'd never written like that before in his life.

He grabbed his pen, and wrote under Arthur's comment, "_That I used to be the hero_."

...

After English, Arthur headed in one direction, Alfred in another, which sucked. Nothing distracted him from depressing Mattie-related thoughts like Arthur.

Alfred found himself in Home ec., without any ingredients, because he'd completely forgotton he'd taken this subject. But a wave of relief wash over him, as he realised how frtunate he had been that Arthur had headed in another direction to another lesson, because had he come with Alfred, that meant he would've taken the subject, and would have to cook.

There was noting on this Earth worse than Arthur's cooking. And that was coming from Alfred, who really wasn't the world's best chef.

Elizaveta offered to share her ingredients with him, as did Kiku. He found himself working on a table with the two of them, along with Feliciano, who was wearing his usual vacant expression. Which would be fine, except for the fact he was holding a knife.

He heard Francis and Gilbert's trademark laughs, and almost turned to see what was so amusing, but the string of curses that followed informed him they were teasing Lovino.

Elizaveta matched his puzzled expression with a knowing smile. "It's about Antonion," she said, slicing some vegatable (namely a carrot).

"What?" Alfred had no idea what was going on.

"They're teasing him about Antonio," her smile grew.

"Aren't they always?" he wondered aloud.

"Ve~ but it's different this time!" laughed Feliciano. "Fratello finaly said yes!"

Well, that was something. He had never actually thought Lovino would acknowledge his feelings for Antonio. It was...nice. And nice was not a word usually associated with Lovino.

Kiku smiled at him. "Al-kun, does this topic interest you?"

He shrugged. "Dude, I don't even know what interests me anymore."

Kiku began to ask him what he meant by that, but his words were cut off by the sound of frying pan meeting face.

"Ow! Lizzie! why the hell did you do that to the awesome me?"

"I'm sorry Gil! I thought you were Francis!"

"I'm offended!"

"As am I! How could you possibley mistake him for me? Look at how drably he is dressed!"

"I assume by drab, you mean "AWESOME!"!"

Elizaveta hid her frying pan sheepishly behind her back and smiled up at the teacher, who glared at her accusingly. She giggled, covering her mouth with her hand. She flicked a lose strand of her long brown hair over her shoulder, and looked up at the teacher with large innocent eyes of pure green. The teacher turned away from the group.

Her expression hardened. "Of course I'm going to assume you're Francis if you suddenly wrap your arm around my waist and don't give me the slightest bit of warning!"

"Lizzie," Gilbert rubbed his nose, which now matched his red eyes, "I'm your boyfriend! And I'm awesome! I'm totally allowed!"

Francis played with a strand of his fair blonde hair, and looked Gilber up and down with unimpressed blue eyes, taking in his silver hair and pale skin. "Really Elizaveta," he rested his elbow on her shoulder, "I have no idea what you see in him that you don't see in me."

She pushed his arm off of her shoulder, and waved her frying pan threateningly in his face. He backed away slowly, hands raised in surrender. "No one sees anything in you Francis. Not me, not Michelle, and certainly not Ma-"

She stopped. She bit her lip and turned to Alfred. The group seemed to have fallen silent. "I'm so sorry Al," she started. "I didn't realise what I was saying."

Alfred shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "It's fine," he said, smiling through the fresh wave of pain that gripped his heart. "I hated the French bastard getting near my brother anyway."

Francis looked offended. "Mattieu never complained..."

"He didn't like you Francis! What he like was finally being noticed!" he snapped.

Four pairs of eyes looked at him curiously. He placed a hand over his mouth in shock.

"I- I'm sorry. I have no idea where that came from," Alfred looked back to his chopping board and continued to slive.

"Anyway Lizzie, the awesome me came over here to make your life so much awesomer!"

Alfred could hear the irritation in Elizaveta's voice. "Gil-"

He whispered something hastily in her ear. Her face lit up. "Really?"

He nodded. She grabbed a pen and scribbled something on her hand. The next time she met Alfred's gaze, there was a gleam in her eyes.

Francis ran off, screaming something about his dish burning,and Gilbert followed, claiming that only his awesomeness could prevent Francis from boiling his head in a saucepan in a failed attempt at suicide. Elizaveta caught Kiku's attention and mouthed something at him, pointing to the writing on her hand.

Alfred had no idea what the exchange meant, and returned to his cooking. He had no idea what he was actually cooking, but he seemed to be making it well enough. It was almost as though he were on autopilot, his hands were cooking the meal with no help from his brain. They appeared to know what they were doing, even if he had no clue.

Break followed Home Ec. He didn't think he'd ever been so relieved to get out of a lesson before, but he was just so sick of Francis-

Wait a second. He wasn't sick of Francis (yet). The Frenchman had barely spoken to him all block.

Why did thinking about Francis make him feel sick?

Maybe you're in love with him, said the small voice at the back of his head.

Okay, what the fuck? What the actual fuck? He was not in love with Francis. He knew what being in love felt like, and he did not feel it for Francis. Where the hell was all this coming from?

He was so screwed.

...

Arthur met him where he always did; outside the Maths department. He didn't know why they always met there, they just did. And Arthur took his hand, and asked him how he was, and how his lesson had been, and shocked Alfred slightly, because usually Arthur never made any effort to be nice to him, and it was always him who asked these questions because he worried about what happened to his Artie when he wasn't there being all heroic and saving him and shit. Arthur was never the first to do anything. Yet here he was, holding his hand, and there wasn't the slightest trace of embarresment on his face. Arthur rarely wanted to hold his hand.

What the hell are you on? He always wants to touch you! He can barely keep his hands off you!

No, what the hell are you on? Arthur always shies away from contact!

Arthur? You idiot, I'm not on about him! I'm on about Francis!

Okay, now you're seriously taking the piss! Stop making me think about that pervert! And he doesn't touch me, you're thinking about Ma-

"Oh God," he whispered.

"Alfred, is something wrong?" Arthur frowned in concern.

"I, um, have to go." he dropped Arthur's hand. However, he couldn't resist the urge to grab the shorter blonde, and just hold him.

For some reason, he felt like he wasn't going to get a lot of chances to do that ever again.

...

He didn't believe in all that supernatural paranormal crap. That was Arthur's thing.

Except aliens. Those bitches were real.

But he definitely didn't believe in ghosts. They weren't even the slightest bit real.

And yet...something told him that the things he'd been thinking recently...like about Francis...well...

He didn't think it was him thinking them.

He thought it was Mattie.

Twins were meant to be connected, right? Like, they could read each others minds and shit. since he'd never done anything like that he'd assumed they'd lost the connection due to their four-year seperation.

But now- oh God, he felt like a fool for thinking it- he felt like Mattie was somehow living through him. 

And he didn't like it.

So he ran to the first place he could think of; somewhere that had been a place of refuge to students since the dawn of time.

The bathroom.

"FIRE!" he yelled on entrance. "EVERYBODY OUT!"

A bunch of boys ran screaming ran from the room screaming. One boy looked down. "The fire can wait," he said, shrugging. He then proceeded to fall asleep. Standing up. With his cock out.

He was just lucky Alfred was Alfred, and not Francis.

"Idiot," Alfred rolled his eyes. He was pretty sure that kid was in his PE and his Geography, and he slept through everything.

There was a mirror in the boys' bathroom. It had a huge crack in it, and no one really had any idea why it was there. The only people who really used it were the boys who felt obligated to gel their hair every five minutes.

Oh, and Feliks.

Alfred found himself trying to look everywhere but the mirror. He knew it was stupid, but he was actually kind of scared to look in it.

What kind of hero was afraid of their own reflection?

His eyes flicked up to it.

His blue eyes met the familiar pair in the mirror.

His blue eyes met the familiar violet pair in the mirror.

He gasped with shock, even though part of hi had been expecting it. He placed his hands either side of his head and scrunched his eyes tightly closed, because. This. Was. Not. Happening.

He'd fallen asleep again, that was all. Any second now he'd be woken up by Arthur's angry tone or Elizaveta's frying pan.

Or, even better, his alarm would go off, and it would be Thursday, and the hell of the last five days would end.

He opened his eyes. The pair in the mirror were blue.

He breathed in deeply. He had imagined it.

He blinked. His eyes flashed violet. Just for a second.

Just one second.

"Fuck."

It was all he could say. Nothing else came to mind.

"Fuck." He said it again. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!"

He kicked a cubical door. "Fuck!" He knew it wasn't a very heroic way to handle it, but frankly, he didn't care.

He was possessed by the non-existent ghost of his not-dead brother.

Fuck seemed to sum up his feelings very aptly.

* * *

><p><strong>Extended an:**

This seemed longer on paper. Hmm...

I hope you guys liked this! I wanna thank the two people who've shown interest in this. I mean, I know most people get like, a hundred reviews and favourites and stuff, but just getting one review means as much as a thousand to me. Seriously. I hope this chapter hasn't disappointed the two of you too much.

So yeah, I think every chapter is going to start with a flashback of some sort, until I run out of things to flashback to. Which I imagine will be Chapter Four.

So a bunch of characters appeared briefly in this, right? For a couple of lines. I bet we all know who the guy who fell asleep whilst peeing is, right? Right?

Next chapter, expect more characters holding the spotlight for a fleeting moment of fame, the return of Alfred's mum, more confusion, plot advancement, more implied Franada, and um, words.

Thanks for reading. Merry Christmas! I hope Finland brought you everything you wanted!


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **

WOAH! This is officially my most popular story! Last time I check those strange stat things, this had just overtaken "Snow" by one hit! WOOT! I nominate all you PruAus shippers go read that and restore it to it's former role as total epic story. But you don't have to. It's cool.

Now that that shameless self-promotion is over:

Thank you to the eight people who are following this, and the four/five who have reviewed! I was only uploading it to get the basic gist of chapters, and look at this now. You guys have made my Christmas. Really.

Allergy Advice: Warning, chapter may contain traces of USUK and Frananda  
>Recipe: Cannot guarantee yaoi free, some darker themes that may upset people (if you've ever had a relative in a coma, and you've visited them, which I know from experience is not a pleasant thing to do, this may bring back some bad memories. It did for me as I was writing it, but then, I am a total drama queen and I over-react all the Goddamn time. Read through it, it's not actually that bad, but you know, fair warning, better safe than sorry)<br>Factory: Added swearing, OOC-ness, jumping to conclusions, self-conflict (very different to self-harm. Basically it's just a one-sided argument that happens in a characters mind), paranormal shit, mindless acceptance of paranormal shit, confusion, more confusion, PLOT DEVELOPMENT THAT WILL MAKE NO SENSE AT THE CURRENT TIME, bad spelling and grammar.

I'm not Hidekaz Himaruya. I do not own Hetalia. I just have a laptop.

(Dudes, I have this laptop so much that I've only had it what, two, maybe three days, and it's already been featured in two a/n's. I bet it feels like royalty!)

* * *

><p>He was sitting in a bathroom cubicle, hiding from Francis.<p>

He seemed to do that a lot.

Why did Francis have to be the only person who noticed him?

He buried his head in his hands and took a moment to think.

Like, really think.

Because maybe it wasn't the promise of being groped that made him feel sick whenever the looked into those sparkling blue eyes. Maybe it was something else completely.

Maybe he was falling in love with Francis.

It felt good to admit it; he'd been fighting Francis and Francis-related thoughts for so long. Finally accepting it was the best he could do. The inward battle he'd been fighting would end, at least. But with this new-found acceptance came the realisation that Francis was, well, Francis.

The only person Francis Bonnefoy would ever love, would ever be true to, would ever value before every other thing on Earth, was Francis Bonnefoy.

And he was not Francis Bonnefoy. So being in love with him- he wasn't saying he was in love with him, though, he was just admitting that he might be- was all very well and good, but he just had to accept that to Francis, he would only be something to play with.

He didn't know what to do. He didn't think he wanted to be in love with Francis. Because, you know, he had spent however many years convinced that Francis was a complete dick. And he still thought he was a dick. And a pervert.

And he really didn't want to be in love with him.

But he wanted to be loved. He had to admit, the attention he was given by Francis was tiresome, and it made him feel uncomfortable, and it may have been the same way he treated everyone else, though mainly Michelle, but it was still attention.

It made him feel like he wasn't some insignificant speck of dust that everyone else chose to ignore because no one could be bothered to dust it.

He knew his life was pretty good. He had a family who loved him and fed him and clothed him and gave him shelter, he was getting a good education, and would hopefully go to a good university and get a good job. He had his entire life ahead of him; he wasn't dying of a terminal illness, he wasn't starving, he wasn't neglected. He shouldn't be feeling so sorry for himself.

He hated the fact that that was exactly what he was doing; sat there, feeling sorry for himself. He should be grateful for what he had.

The bell rang.

It was Thursday; his last lesson was History. He just had to make it though this last hour. His day was so nearly over.

It had been an exceptionally crap day, but then again, Thursdays always were.

…

"GET OUT OF MY HEAD!" Alfred yelled, causing Heracles to wake. The Greek looked down, finished peeing, washed his hands and left, not wanting to stay in a room with some guy who was arguing with himself. Oh, and there was something about a fire...

Alfred almost thought he heard Matthew laugh. He slid down the wall, sobbing. "Please," he mumbled, "please Mattie, get out of my head."

These weren't dreams he kept having; they were flashbacks. Mattie's flashbacks. He didn't know why he kept having them, but he wanted them to stop.

He wanted this nightmare to stop.

"I can't, Al," he heard.

It was a whisper, carried in on the wind, so soft, so gentle, so full of sorrow.

It was his brother's voice; a voice he had been so convinced he would never hear again.

It sounded like heartbreak.

He wondered what could be making Matthew so sad. Well, apart from the whole dying thing.

He stood up. "Mattie?" he called.

His response was a tapping noise, like someone banging on glass. His eyes immediately flew to the mirror, and once again met the pair of violet. But this time, with a small gasp of shock, Alfred realised that it was not just the colour of his eyes that had been altered.

The entire thing had been altered.

His reflection was not him.

His reflection had longer hair, parted in a different style in a different place, containing one uncontrollable strand that was longer than the rest, and curled several times. His face was slightly rounder, his cheeks just a little bit more flushed. The same violet eyes he had seen before were shielded by half-framed glasses, that, whilst similar, were not his. His reflection was smiling sadly, an expression Alfred knew he was not wearing.

"M- Mattie?" He couldn't believe what he was seeing, let alone what he was saying. "How are you- what's going on?"

"It's called a Reversal, Al," Mattie explained. It felt like Mattie was always explaining things to him; plots of films, homework assignments, how it was pointless to be scared of the dark. And now, he had come back from the almost-dead to explain what the hell was going on.

"What's called a Reversal? What's going on? How is any of this possible?"  
>The Mattie in the mirror sighed. "They won't let me say too much, but-"<p>

"They?" Alfred interrupted. "Who are "they"?"

Mattie closed his eyes. Through gritted teeth, he said, "I can't tell you Alfred, but you'll find out soon enough."

"I- I will?" Why did that concept fill Alfred with dread?

"Alfred, this is the basic idea of a Reversal: You were the one that was meant to have been hit by that truck; not me. So the person who needs to die is you, not me."

"Wh- what?" he gasped. "I'm- I'm going to die?"

Mattie's expression became pained. "I suppose you are..." He brought his hand to meet his forehead and cried, "God, I can't do anything right!"

"What do you mean?"

"I try to save you from getting hit by a truck, and I get told that I'm messing with fate, that you were always meant to die at that point, whereas I'm not meant to die for another fifty or so years!" His eyes began to fill with tears. "I can't even die right!"

"Mattie," there was nothing Alfred wanted to do more at that point than put his arm around his little brother, than comfort him, than hold him until he stopped crying, "I-"

"Al, I have to go!" Mattie's head swiftly swung upwards. "I'm not even meant to be here!" He glanced fretfully over his shoulder, then back to Alfred, managing a weak smile. "I'll try to come back later, and explain it better. Keep yourself safe 'til then!"

"I will, Mattie, I promise."

He blinked, opening his eyes to a pair of blue.

It was his own reflection once more.

He placed a hand to the cracked mirror. "You too, stay safe," he whispered, devastated he hadn't had the chance to say it whilst Mattie had been there.

"I miss you, little brother."

…

He found himself wondering whether any of that had actually happened, or if it was just a hallucination brought on by lack of sleep.

Surely it hadn't happened?

He didn't want to die.

He was fifteen. He had his whole life ahead of him! A life in which he'd be a hero and save the world and not be dead!

But, if what Mattie had said was true, he was already living on borrowed time. He was meant to have died last Thursday.

"Al-kun, are you alright?" asked a very concerned Kiku in their algebra lesson.

"Course I am Kiku! Why wouldn't I be?" he replied, putting on a brave face.

"It's just you seem...Is there anything troubling you?"

"Well, yeah dude, there kind of is," he felt himself deflate. Kiku, who hadn't been expecting an answer, was shocked that Alfred was going to admit to whatever he was about to admit. "It's just...d'you believe in destiny?"

Kiku looked back to the Quadratic he was meant to be solving, smiling slightly. "I do Al-kun, very much so."

"And, do you think it's possible to...to cheat destiny?"

His head snapped back up. "If this is about the accident Alfred, I really must-"

"Dude, it was s'possed to be me that that truck hit! But it hit Mattie! And since Mattie isn't meant to die yet, he's gunna get better and I'm...I'm gunna die," Alfred's eyes began to brim with tears. "I don't wanna die Kiku."

"Al-kun, you can't really believe this. You have never cared about fate or destiny before." Kiku knew there was something Alfred wasn't telling him, something that had opened him to these beliefs that had previously been foreign to him, but if the American did not wish to confide in him, the Japanese boy was not going to pry.

"Yeah," the reply came back flat, emotionless. "You're right. I don't believe it."

Kiku wasn't convinced, but the topic was dropped, and they fell into a state of silence. He knew that Alfred was not doing the work. He had no idea what Alfred was doing.

Alfred had no idea what Alfred was doing,.

…

Mattie almost screamed. He turned to the girl stood not far from him. "Why couldn't you give me more time?" he asked through his tears.

"I'm not allowed to. Dearest Matthew, were I able I would give you all of eternity to help your brother, but he's on his own now."

"No!" Mattie fell down, crying heavily, angrier than he'd ever been in his entire existence. "You- you said there was a way to stop this! You said there was a way we could both live."

She sighed, dropping down to sit beside him on the floor. "There is Matthew, but I doubt he will find it."

"If anyone can find it, my brother can," mumbled Mattie.

She smiled. "It makes me happy that you can believe such a thing, but it will take much more than just the participation of your brother. He must discover things on his own, then use what he's discovered to convince them to help-"

"Can't you convince them to help?"

She chuckled. "Like they ever listen to me." She shook her head. "The rules say it must be Alfred. I doubt he will be able."

"But-"

"Matthew, no amount of arguing can undo this." She rose. "You should rest. You'll need your energy."

…

"Arthur, you're into all that magic-y shit, aren't ya?" Alfred watched him over the top of the bookshelf.

He sighed, pulling a book from the shelf and skimming the blurb. "I've never heard anyone refer to "The Art of Black Magic, the Supernatural, and the Occult" as "magic-y shit" before Alfred."

"Yeah, but you're into it, right?"

He replaced the book and removed another. "I thought you made me promise never to talk about it in front of you."

"Yeah, well now I'm UN-promising you."

Arthur, finally happy with the book he'd selected, found an empty table, placed the book in front of a seat, slid his bag under it, and sat down. He opened the book, turned to the first page, and said, "I don't think it works like that Alfred."

Sliding into the seat opposite him, Alfred lowered his voice. "Well, anyway, when you were doing this magic-y shit, did you ever come across something called a "Reversal"?"

"No," Arthur flicked the page, "I can't say I did."

"I think it has something to do with cheating destiny; specifically death," Alfred stated with a confident nod.

Arthur lowered his book. "Alfred, what's come over you?"

He bit his lip. "Promise you won't think I'm crazy?"

A swift bob of the Englishman's head showed that he promised.

"I-" He closed his eyes, and tried to spit the words out as fast as possible. "I think I'm- I'm-

I'mbeingpossessedbyMattie."

"You what?"

"I think I'm being possessed by Mattie."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Pray tell," he said.

Alfred, now used to Arthur's weird phrases (although he didn't understand why he couldn't just say "Please explain,") continued. "I've been dreaming like I was Mattie and getting flashbacks into Mattie's life and thinking Mattie's thoughts and I looked in the mirror today and I saw Mattie looking back at me and his ghost or some shit like that, 'cuz Mattie isn't dead, and he told me that what was happening was called a Reversal and it's happening because it was my destiny to get hit by a truck and die, which is a really sucky destiny, if you ask me, and this Reversal shit means that Mattie's gunna get better and I'm gunna die."

Arthur blinked, taken aback, and amazed by how long the American could go without stopping for breath. "That's really...something."

"So you'll help me?"

His blank expression became one of irritation. "Of course I will, you idiot! I don't particularly want you to die!"

Alfred felt a tug at his heart. "Artie, that's so sweet!"

The Brit mumbled something, eyes returning to his book.

"Oh, hey, could you maybe keep Francis away from me?" Alfred asked causally.

Arthur turned his page. "Any particular reason?"

"Um, yeah, Mattie kinda...felt feelings for Francis-"

"Most people feel feelings Alfred. That's why they're called "feelings"."

Alfred played with a lose strand of cotton that was peeling from his jumper. "Yeah, but these were feeling feelings. Mattie kinda, well, liked Francis. And when I'm near him, the Mattie in me kinda acts up and thinks things like-"

Arthur raised a hand as if to say "stop." "Alfred, that's enough! I don't need to hear any more!"

"Dude, I haven't done anything! It was all Mattie! That dude should really learn to censor his thoughts!"

Arthur chuckled slightly. "Are they really that bad?"

"Obviously they are! They're about Francis!"

…

Alfred spent his final lesson of the day wondering how long he had left, and how he was going to die.

Admittedly, the fact that the lesson was biology and they were dissecting a pig's heart in pairs didn't make his melancholy chain of thought cease.

"Cheer up Alfred. Why so glum?" asked his partner, Ivan Braginski, who was smiling in an expression of childlike glee, scalpel in one hand, a bloody glove on the other.

"Shut up, stupid communist bastard" Alfred turned away from him, feeling sick.

His bloody hand shot out and grabbed Alfred's wrist, tugging him towards him. Alfred looked up, scared and confused, meeting his darkening purple gaze. "Become one with me, da?" he stated, menacingly. "Become one with Mother Russia?"

It wasn't a question; it was a command.

"Dude, let go! You're gunna break my wrist!"

Ivan let go, chuckling. His expression altered. "Sorry," he smiled. "I don't know what came over me."

A girl with long ash blonde hair, more or less the same colour as Ivan's, and cold unfeeling blue eyes placed her hands on his shoulders. She wore a ribbon in her hair. A white ribbon.

Ironic really, because white was the colour of peace.

And if there was one word that would never describe Natalia Alfroskaya, it was "peaceful."

"What were you doing to Alfred?" she asked, in a tone that was somehow sweet and innocent, yet dark, menacing and threatening at the same time.

He gulped. "Nothing Natalia."

"Good," she tugged playfully at the non-regulation scarf he always wore, because most teachers were too scared of the tall Russian teenager to ask him to take it off, "because I'd hate to have a repeat of what happened last time."

Her face contorted into an expression Alfred had never seen before, and would never attempt to describe. It was like looking at pure evil. Her grip on his scarf tightened suddenly, and she pulled it sharply. Ivan's face turned slightly blue as she strangled him with his own scarf.

"Natalia, what the hell are you doing! Let go of him!"

To his surprise, she let go. "Of course you'd stick up for him Jones," she sneered. Whilst he attempted to work out what she meant by that, she muttered to Ivan, "How much does he know?"

Ivan shrugged. "Yekaterina said barely anything."

She nodded. "As it should be."

"Dude, what the hell was all that about?" cried Alfred, but Ivan had fallen silent, and refused to speak for the remainder of the lesson.

…

His mother picked him up at the end of the day. He couldn't decide whether it was sweet or patronising that his mum hadn't trusted him to walk to or from school since the accident, but he was grateful for it.

He threw his bag into the back seat and put on a brave face.

His mum had been crying. She'd tried to hide it, but her eyes were red and bloodshot, and there were splotches down her cheeks were she'd scrubbed at the mascara that had run down them.

"How was school?" she asked, smiling.

He had to hand it to her, she seemed to be handling everything pretty well.

Not like him and his five-minute continuous cry of "fuck fuck fuck," in the bathroom.

Clearly his mum, like his brother, was a hero.

"It was fine," he replied, because there is no nice way to tell your obviously devastated mum that you're possessed by your brother, and he appeared to you to tell you that you're going to die.

At least, no nice way that Alfred could see.

"That's good," she answered. She began to say something else, but Alfred cut her off with, "Mom, are you alright? Why've you been crying?"

"Oh God," she blinked, tears once again dripping down her face. "It's your brother. He- the doctors-" She took a deep pause. "It doesn't look like he's going to make it past the end of the week."

The end of the week.

"I thought about taking you out of school, so we could go see him one last time, as soon as the hospital rang, but I remembered how much you wanted to go to school."

One last time.

"But, if it's okay with you, I want to go see him now, since we might not get any more chances too."

Any more chances.

"Yeah, that- that's fine." Alfred choked on his words.

He was terrified that Mattie was going to die.

And then he remembered it wasn't Mattie who was going to die.

…

He took one look at his brother and almost collapsed.

There was no rosy flush to his cheeks. His skin was pale, and looked like it was covered in a layer of ice. His eyes were closed, but he didn't look like he was sleeping. Alfred couldn't understand how this could ever be compared to sleep. Mattie looked about as far away from sleep as he could get. When he slept, his mouth curled upwards in the tiniest hint of a smile, his cheeks red, and he made quiet humming noises that were almost melodic when he breathed out.

The emotionless mask Mattie wore was not due to sleep, nor would it ever be compared to a mask of sleep.

It was a mask of death.

His mother was sat by Mattie, holding his hand, and crying. Quietly, but still crying.

Alfred had never felt so useless in his entire life. His brother was right there, and he could do nothing to help him. He had failed. He was meant to protect his brother, and be his hero. Yet he could do nothing. He felt hollow. It was as though all the other people he'd helped, all the other things he'd ever done were pointless. They meant nothing, because they hadn't given him the ability to help Mattie now.

He was held paralysed by fear. The steady beep of the machine Matthew was hooked onto terrified him. Any second now, part of him screamed, it'll just stop.

He didn't like to see Mattie like this; wires connected to various parts of his body, the only spot of colour being the large gash on his forehead where his head had collided with the hard gravelly tarmac of the road, the arm that had met the truck wrapped in bandages.

This was not how he wanted to remember Mattie. If his brother died, he would not remember him lying here, looking like death itself.

And then he remembered this was supposed to be him.

It wasn't Mattie who wouldn't last the week; it was him.

And suddenly he was being suffocated, choked, smothered by the realisation that he had until Sunday to live.

He couldn't be in that room any more.

Hell, he couldn't be in that building any more.

"Alfred, where are you-"

"I need a moment alone mom. I'll just be outside." He almost ran past her, every step feeling heavier, like his sense of foreboding was pulling him down, literally.

The fresh air did little for him. He still felt sick. He removed his phone from his pocket, and turned it on, hoping he could drown the chaos of his thoughts in some music.

He had turned it off in the hospital because he'd been told I would interfere with the machinery keeping Mattie alive.

He looked at it now.

Four missed calls.

Shit.

Four missed calls from Arthur. 

Shit, shit.

One new message.

Shit, shit, double shit, shit!

Arthur never left messages. When he did, they were angry and shouty and made Alfred feel bad.

The bleep that meant he needed to go to voicemail went off.

He rang.

"ALFRED BLOODY JONES," the message began, proving his theory that they were always angry and shouty, "YOU ARE A COMPLETE WANKER! YOU CANNOT ASK SOMEONE TO WASTE THEIR FREETIME LOOKING IN DUSTY OLD BOOKS FOR SOMETHING, AND THEN NOT ANSWER YOUR FUCKING PHONE FOUR TIMES IN A BLEEDING ROW, SO THEY CAN'T GET HOLD OF YOU!"

Wait, that meant-

"If you've gotten yourself killed, " continued Arthur, his voice quieter and calmer, "I shan't miss you. Because you're a wanker and didn't tell me you were going to switch you bloody phone off."

He shrugged. Fair enough.

"But I did it. I found out what a Reversal is. You're not going to like it, but I know what it is."

Alfred couldn't fight his anticipation. He needed to know what a Reversal was. He needed to know what was happening to him. He waited for the piece of information he craved.

End of message.

* * *

><p><strong>Extended an:**

Ohonhonhon~ do I know how to keep you is suspense or what?

Okay, I have no idea how to keep you guys in suspense. I guess that Artuad workshop they made us take do in Drama was a complete waste. That's FOUR MOTHER EFFIN' HOURS of my life that I'm never getting back.

So, in response to one of my reviews, no, the pairings won't feature that heavily in the story. They were never really going to. They were just kind of there. The most you'll get is probably some hand holding and nice words. However England is totally helping America on his epic quest to not die, which I think is something he would only do if he loved him.

I hope you guys enjoy this chapter's Random Canada Flashback (TM) (Okay, not really, but I may have to create myself a story entitled "Random Canada Flashbacks" and just fill it with random stuff, like a scrapbook). It was kind of Franada, right? I don't usually ship that pairing, seeing as France is France and I really cannot pair him with anyone. But I kind of liked the opening. I thought it really captured the thought patterns of someone struggling with their emotions.

As promised, I have already ran out of things for Canada to flashback to. Suggestions would be awesome! If you have one, leave it in a review! I'm thinking about maybe going back to when him and America were all little and cute, but that would be completely random. Your suggestions would be valued beyond belief!

Okay, now onto stuff about the actual chapter: THERE WAS PLOT ADVANCEMENT/DEVELOPMENT/WHATEVER! :D  
>Yeah, it probably makes no sense to you now, but I'll leave you with some questions to ponder. Questions that will hopefully be answered in the next chapter.<p>

How the Hell did Canada get into that freakin' mirror if he's being monitored in a hospital? Why is he possessing America? Who are "they"? Who was the mysterious "she" talking to Canada, and what the bloody hell was she going on about? Why the hell is Russia so freaky? What was Belarus on about in that strange discussion she had with Russia? And, the question I'm sure we're all wondering (or if you guys aren't, America sure is) just WHAT is a reversal?

These questions will be answered over the course of the next two chapters! As soon as I write them...

Next time: MAGIC WITH IGGY!


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: **

OHMIGOSH! This story got just over a hundred hits it a day! You guys...you guys are amazing! I feel so loved! Thank you for reading this story! Thank you!

Okay, so I believe the plot had just began to advance in the last chapter I uploaded...More plot advancement in this one, but mainly just...I don't know.

Allergy Advice: Warning, chapter may contain traces of USUK  
>Recipe: Cannot guarantee yaoi free<br>Factory: Added swearing, OOC-ness, jumping to conclusions, paranormal shit, more paranormal shit, mindless acceptance of paranormal shit, OC's, bad spelling and grammar.

Plot advancement doesn't really take place until the end of the chapter. The rest of the chapter feels tedious, and then we have some cool exciting stuff! Woot!

Yeah, I don't own Hetalia. You probably know that because I believe it's been mentioned in what, every chapter?

* * *

><p>He sometimes found himself wondering why it was always his brother.<p>

Because it was.

It was always his brother.

He was never noticed, hidden in the shadow of a hero. And, though he tried, he could never find what was necessary to step out from that shadow.

But, then again, he wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to.

Don't misread the situation: Alfred's charming personality didn't just win people over. His arrogance enabled him to make his fair share of enemies.

So, whilst he had the benefits of being popular, he also had to deal with a decent amount of hassle. Fights often arose, and he always stepped up to meet that challenge.

Safely shielded behind his brother, he had very little to fear.

Yet he couldn't help but wonder why his best was never good enough.

He was just as good as his brother, wasn't he?

Maybe it was a twin thing. Maybe one twin would always be best.

And he wasn't that twin.

He put the pencil down, and laid it across the notebook he'd been writing in. He sighed. He reached to the other side of the desk, and picked up a glass, taking a swig of water. Laying it down. He flicked a switch on his computer, turning it on. The monitor lit up in a flash of white light.

He grabbed for the mouse, logged in, and clicked on a file. He then proceeded to type up what he'd just written.

There was a knock on his door. "Who is it?" he called.

"Dude, it's just the hero! Can I come in?"

He saved the document and turned the monitor off. "C-Course, Al, come in."

The door opened with a creak. He heard Alfred walk across the room and pop himself down on the bed. It groaned under his weight.

"Mom says she's gunna give us a lift in today," he said.

He swung his chair around to meet him. "I know, Al. I was at breakfast too."

"Oh," he nodded, smiling. "You were. Of course."

His brother ran a hand through his hair in a way that way almost nervous.

"Alfred, you okay?" he asked.

"Dude, I'm fine," Alfred replied tiredly. He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "It's just..."

"It's just what?"

"I have a bad feeling about today," he answered, shaking his head.

Mattie smiled. "It's a Thursday. I always have a bad feeling."

"It's more than that! I have never wanted to go to school less in my life. Bunk off with me?"

He'd never been asked to skip school with anyone. He knew Alfred did it enough, as did Francis, but he'd obviously bunk off with Gilbert and Antonio, whereas Alfred would bunk off with...well, he wasn't entirely sure. He supposed with Yao and Arthur, but neither of them really seemed the type to skip school. But then again, Arthur didn't seem the type to succeed in smuggling alcohol into school, and not getting discovered until he had already drunk so much he was out of his face.

Still, he shook his head. "Thanks, but no thanks Al, I have exams to prepare for-"

Alfred flung himself backwards, groaning. "Mattie, why d'you have to be such a killjoy! I'd almost forgotten about them!"

He sighed. "Alfred, not revising for them doesn't count as forgetting them, that's being lazy."

A threatening growl emanated from his brother. He rose from his chair, and removed his blazer from the hanger it was resting on. He shrugged into it, then replaced the hanger on the handle of his wardrobe. "you should probably go grab your stuff Al. It's nearly time to leave."

…

He bit his lip. His first feeling was anger. Why the hell couldn't Arthur tell him what a Reversal was over the phone? What was wrong with him? Was this because Alfred hadn't answered his phone?

Then he realised you only get a certain amount of time to leave a message.

Then he realised he was but a phone call away from understanding.

He pushed a few arrows, slammed a few keys, and soon had the phone pressed against his ear. The beeping reminded him slightly of Mattie's life support monitor, and he felt sick once again.

He just wanted to get this over with.

"So you're not dead then," Arthur said by way of greeting, picking up the phone after what had been an eternity of waiting on Alfred's behalf. "I can't say whether I'm disappointed or not."

"Dude, whatever! Just tell me what the hell a Reversal is!"

There was a sigh from the other end of the phone. "It's hard to explain. And it's complicated. And it may be better if we have this conversation face-to-face."

"Why?"

"Because you're an idiot, and never understand things when I explain them over the phone."

"Oh." That was true. He didn't whenever he was stuck on homework and phoned Arthur, he didn't get it. But then he could say the same thing to him in, say, an email, and he would completely follow it.

"Where are you right now?"

Alfred glanced over his shoulder. "I'm at that hospital. You know, the on on the end of New Street Road."

"I know of it. How long are you going to be there?"

He shrugged, then realised that Arthur couldn't see him. "I dunno. I could probably leave right now, just have to let my mom know, and stuff."

There was some form of interference on from Arthur. He heard some kind of muffled noise.

"Dude, you still there?" he asked.

"What? Yes, I'm still here! I just- Mum said I'm not allowed to take the book outside so...Hey Jones, fancy popping over for a little bit?"

"Wh- what?" He shouldn't have been so surprised by this, but Arthur had never invited him anywhere before, let alone his home. He wasn't even entirely sure where Arthur lived.

"Yeah, I mean, New Street Road is only about a half hour walk from my street, so I could meet you halfway...Do you know where Crescent Hill Close is?"

He nodded, again forgetting Arthur couldn't see him. "Yeah," he said. "It's the one where that scary guy with a gun lives."

"I'll meet you there in about fifteen minutes, alright?"

"Um, yeah, sure." Alfred knew where the street was, but he couldn't guarantee he knew how to get there.

But Arthur had already hung up, so there wasn't much he could do.

He left his mother a message explaining he'd gone to meet a friend, and he had his phone so she could contact him at any second.

And then he began his fifteen minute quest to find this street he'd already forgotten the name of.

Not that he was lost; he was the hero, and heroes don't get lost.

His pushed his glasses further up his nose, and turned around again.

God, why did every single street look the same? Why was every road a thousand houses long? Why were there no friendly dog walkers for him to ask directions from?

He sighed, leaning against a familiar lamppost.

How can a lamppost be familiar, you may ask. Well, this happened to be the lamppost Alfred had attempted to climb to the top of for several year, the same lamppost he'd collided with, completely denting the front wheel of his bike, and the one he'd been pushed into when he was five, cracking his head open.

Wait, what was this lamppost doing here? It was meant to be in his street, not some random street he'd ended up in.

And then he realised the random street he'd ended up in was his street.

His only thought was, "How the fuck did I end up here?"

At least he knew how to get to Crescent Hill Close from here.

It might be about half an hour away, but he knew where it was.

It might be up a course featuring several hills and other shit like that, but he knew where it was

It might have really pissed Arthur off when he turned up almost an hour late, but at least he showed up.

The Englishman glared at him. "What the hell took you so long?"

"I totally didn't get lost, if that's what you're implying!"

"You got lost?"

He looked down. "Maybe just a little bit."

"Oh God," Arthur rolled his eyes. "You're hopeless."

Alfred began to speak, but Arthur clearly had the intention of ranting at him.

"I have been stood," he continued angrily, "out here, in the freezing cold for God knows how long, receiving odd looks from passer-bys and Vash- who, before you ask, is the lad you mentioned earlier, with the guns. We happen to be stood just outside his house, and he's been glaring at me threateningly for God knows how long- not because something had come up, as I believed, but because you got yourself lost!"

"I didn't get lost!" His cheeks began to heat up. "I knew exactly where I was going!

Arthur rolled his eyes. "We should probably go."

He nodded, well aware of the real reason he was meeting Arthur.

Arthur led him through more mazes of identical houses. However, to Alfred, the streets were very different to the one he'd grown up in. They didn't look like the type of houses to have children who would run ammock wreaking havoc with chaotic screams of anarchic glee. They looked like the sort of streets that would have refined children who invited each other round for piano recitals and chess tournaments. Which actually, thinking about it, seemed like the sort of child Arthur would have been.

The house Arthur stopped in front of had a gate. Well, all the houses had gates, because there was a wall that ran along the course of the street, separating the gardens. Arthur's garden had dormant bushes with buds that were once again beginning to bloom, and was like his handwriting; messy in an organised manner. It's front door was blue, and Arthur pulled the handle don with the intention of opening it, only to scowl and swear at the fact it was locked.

"Wankers," he grumbled to himself. He knew exactly who had done that.

He was forced to ring the doorbell of his own home.

A muffled response of, "Whatever you're selling, we're not buying any!" met them

He rang again.

And again.

And again.

Then he lost his patience.

"SCOTT, YOU BLOODY WANKER!" he began. "OPEN THIS FUCKING TO RIGHT NOW, OR I SWEAR TO GOD, I WILL BLOODY WELL-"  
>His words were cut off by a tall, slender boy with blood red hair and a sly grin. "Alright Arthur," he had said, after opening the door, "calm the fuck down."<p>

He leant in the doorway, arms crossed. Alfred knew he'd seen him before, so that made him one Arthur's siblings who still went to school. His eyes were green, like Arthur's, but they weren't the same green. They were darker, but they rested below the same eyebrows. His face was thinner, giving him the illusion of being much older than Arthur, when there were only either one or wo years between them.

Alfred heard someone from another room, with a feminine, faster voice, yell, "Scott, is it Arthur?"

The boy, now named Scott, called, "Yeah, it's wank-face. Why?"

He was thrown out of the doorway by a slightly taller girl whom Alfred had never seen before in his life, but looked too young to be Arthur's mother. Her hair was an orange colour, and she'd tied it so that two small bunches rested on the side of her head, whilst the rest of it fell down to her shoulders, loose. It had obviously been straightened, and was now beginning to curl. Her fringe was long, and Alfred imagined it hid thick eyebrows too. Except she might've plucked them, because she was a girl and all, and girls do that...right?

Anyway, woman-who-was-too-young-to-be-Arthur's-mom stood there beaming. "Mam's gone to work Artie, and we didn't know where you were, so she wants you to ring her to prove you're not dead and you haven't been kidnapped or raped!"

Arthur raised his hand to his face. "I will. Can we come in now?"

At the word "we" , both Scott and woman-who-was-too-young-to-be-Arthur's-mom seemed to notice Alfred. Scott scowled, but woman-who-was-too-young-to-be-Arthur's-mom's smile grew.

"Who's this Arthur?" she said, flicking her gaze back to him. "How rude of you not to introduce us."

Arthur sighed. "Fiona, this is Alfred, Alfred, my sister Fiona. And that tosser you know. He's Scott."

"I didn't realise you had a sister. You've never mentioned her before."

"WHAT?" Fiona gasped. "You've never mentioned me Artie? How could you? How could you do that to me?"

He bit his lip in frustration. "Just let us through the fucking door!"

Stepping back to allow them entrance, and grabbing Scott's shoulder to drag him away from the door, she said, "What your mouth Arthur."

He rolled his eyes.

Alfred stepped into his house and was met by some form of scent. It was sweet, and made him feel calmer. The hall of Arthur's house was different to his. He'd expected it to be neat and tidy, kind of resembling his, with a few photos on the wall, some coats on a rack, everything put away neat and tidily.

It wasn't.

There was a coat stand which had a few hats resting upon it, so it was probably more a hat stand than a coat stand. But the floor that it stood upon looked like a coat bomb had been set off around it. Coats of all different colours, all different styles and all different sizes lay in heaps around the floor. And, to his amazement, Arthur took off his scarf and jacket, and half-heartedly placed them on the coat rack, stepping on the coats of others as he did, and made no response when it fell off.

Fiona and Scott had disappeared somewhere, Alfred had no idea where. Arthur kicked off his shoes and threw the into the open draw of an over-flowing shoe drop. Turning to Alfred he said, "I'm going to do myself some tea. Fancy any?"

Alfred shook his head. "I don't drink tea."

"Suit yourself." He turned, then yelled up the stairs, "I'm putting the kettle on! Anyone else want any tea?"

He was met with several responses.

"Yeah, sure."

"Milk and two sugars!"

"GO FUCK YOURSELF!"

"YOU FUCK YOURSELF SCOTT!" was Arthur's reply.

Alfred thought this must have annoyed Scott, because he could here someone from upstairs start running, and come running down the stairs, and then throw themselves at Arthur.

But...they didn't do it violently.

It was like they were hugging him.

"Artie," they wailed, "thank God you're back! I thought something bad had happened to you!"

Arthur pushed the boy away from him, and Alfred realised that this boy looked an awful lot like Arthur. His hair was just a shade darker, his eyes lighter, and just the tiniest fraction taller than Arthur. He had the same eyebrows too. He'd been crying. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve. "I was so worried! And, and, Scott keeps bullying me, and Patrick's been teasing me, and I thought you'd never come home!"

He threw his arms around Arthur again.

Arthur looked horrified. "Rhys, get off."

Rhys did. Then he noticed Alfred, and waved, smiling. Alfred waved back, even though he barely had any clue who this dude was.

"Could you do me a cup of tea as well Artie? Oh, even better, I'll do myself some soup!"

Arthur turned towards the kitchen, Rhys following merrily behind like a lost sheep.

"Please don't make any more of your leek soup, Rhys," Arthur's tone was pleading. "I think we've all had enough of that to last us a century."

…

Tea safely in hand, Arthur took Alfred upstairs. This hallway was more like the hall he'd been expecting. Everything was a crisp white; the walls, the carpets, the doors. There were hooks, where pictures must have once hung, but they were now bare. Arthur pushed open one of the seemingly identical doors, and showed him in.

The first thing he noticed were the books. There must have been hundreds of them. In every nook and cranny of the room, a book had worked it's way into it. There was an open guitar case in on the floor, which Arthur stepped over, not bothering to shut. There were a few posters on the wall, along with some framed photos that looked pretty old. The Arthur in those pictures was little, very little, but wearing a very large smile. In fact, all of the people in them seemed to be smiling. He realised he was looking at younger versions of Arthur and his siblings. He picked out Rhys, Scott and Fiona, as well as another boy, older than them, who seemed to be wearing a strange yellow raincoat and carrying an umbrella every time he was photographed, and two adults he assumed were Arthur's mother and father.

Arthur saw him looking, and smiled sadly. "They're from before we moved here," he said quietly. "No one's really smiled like that since then."

"You know, I knew your were from a big family, but you don't really talk about any of 'em."

He shrugged. "I don't really see the point. We all hate it each other. I don't want to waste my breath on my family."

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "That Rhys guy didn't seem to hate you. Or your sister. She didn't seem like she hates you."

"Rhys is rather bipolar. He can go from loving me to hating me very quickly. And Fiona...had Patrick been the one who opened the door, not Scott, you would have seen an entirely different side of her."

Alfred sat down on Arthur's bed, because there was no chairs, and the floor looked uncomfortable. "Um, so...you remember why I'm here?"

Arthur reached up to a shelf and pulled a book down. "Of course I do!"

He sat himself next to Alfred, closing his eyes, almost wincing. "You aren't going to be pleased. At all. "

"Why?"

"Well, from what I've been able to gather, you were right. A Reversal takes place when someone interferes with another person's destined death. Said person will then enter a state of almost-death as- and this is the part you are going to struggle to understand, and struggle to accept- their soul is transferred into the body of the person who should have died, namely you."

Alfred froze.

It made so much sense. It explained everything.

He shouldn't be so accepting of it, but he realised that part of him, probably the part of him that is now Mattie, had been telling him this all along.

"What happens to me?" he asked

Arthur's eyes filled with regret. "To you...Well, the same thing. Your soul gets transferred to Mattie's body..."

Again, he nodded. "So, I'm becoming Mattie, and Mattie's becoming me."

"Basically," Arthur gulped. "But a Reversal only takes a week. So, tomorrow night, you'll go to sleep, but on Thursday morning, it'll be Mattie who wakes up. In your body."

Alfred chewed the inside of his mouth, and tried not to cry. "And is there- Is there anyway we can stop it?"

Arthur began to scowl. "Yes. I found it in some book, but I think the author was just taking the piss."

"Arthur, I don't care how ridiculous it is! If there's a chance that both me and Mattie can live, we are gonna fucking well do it! Whatever the fuck it is!"

Arthur sighed. He opened the book he was holding to a marked page. "This book claims that everyone on Earth has a Guardian Angel until the age of eighteen. They would be disguised as someone close to them, and would make sure they follow their destined path, or some shit like that. In order to prevent the Reversal, we need to find yours."

"Oh." He hadn't expected it to be something like that. He didn't even believe in Guardian Angels or whatever else this book was going on about.

But he didn't believe in destiny, fate, or magic. And look what was happening now.

"And how do we do that?"

This earned him an eye roll. "Well, we do a Summoning, don't we?"

"A- A what?"

"A Summoning. It's a very basic spell in theory, but much harder in practice." There was a gleam to Arthur's eyes, one that Alfred had never seen before. "I've only attempted it a handful of times, but they've worked well enough for me."

Alfred nodded. "And we're gunna do this Summoning thing, are we?"

"That depends; do you want to die or not?"

"Oh, yeah, I kinda forgot the dying part." He scratched the back of his neck nervously.

"Well, do you want to?"

"Do I want to what?"

"To die, you wanker!"

"No. No I don't want to die. Let's- Let's do this crazy-ass magic shit!"

Again, Arthur rolled his eyes. But a slow smile spread across his lips as he hugged the book to his chest. "Let's go find your Guardian Angel."

…

"Are you sure this is going to work?"

"No Alfred. I have no clue whether this will work, but you seem desperate enough to try anything."

"Fair enough," he said, shrugging and pulling up the hood of the dark cloak Arthur had requested he wore.

They were in Arthur's basement, which had even more books than his room. However, unlike the books in his room, which were by authors with names like Dickens and Bronte, Hardy and Austen, they were all old and decrepit, pages brown with age, spines peeling, and titles in what Alfred assumed to be Latin. Arthur was drawing some strange sort of circle on the ground with chalk, and shoving a bunch of random symbols and foreign words into it. When it was finished, he stood up, and dusted the chalk from his fingers.

Alfred handed him his book back. He took it, flicked it open to the right page, and started some sort of chant.

Admittedly, Alfred kind of tuned out, because he was terrified. He wasn't all that keen on the idea of, well, magic. He refused to believe any of this was happening.

But it was happening, and he'd accepted that.

The circle Arthur had drawn began to glow. Alfred jumped away from it, terrified. He decided he didn't want to meet his Guardian Angel. What if they were pissed with him for not dying, and flipped out, and tried to kill him with a hammer?

He didn't want to be killed with a hammer.

That would suck.

To his complete bewilderment, the star in the centre of the circle began to glow even brighter, the silhouette of a head and shoulders rising up from the floor.

Like actually rising out from the floor.

Whomever the head belonged to opened their eyes. Bright light flooded the room once more, and Alfred closed his eyes to escape it.

When he opened them again, the light in the room had died down.

The person who may or may not have been his Guardian Angel smiled up at Arthur. Alfred approached him tentatively.

"You called?" he asked.

* * *

><p><strong>Extended an: **

Okay, so I tried to write descriptions here, but they failed. I tried to describe a house, my OC's and a lamppost. I failed at the lamppost thing by the way. In case you didn't notice.

I really hope I didn't make it too obvious what was going to happen, but yeah, some of the reviews came scarily close to naming the plot. But no one saw this coming, except me. 'Cuz I got bored when I was writing this out, and I just thought, "Yeah, let's shove a bunch of angels into it," and that will probably be more evident in the next chapter.

I told you all I'd run out of things for Canada to feature in flashbacks, so I'm sorry if this one sucks.

I'm not as pleased with this chapter as I have been with the others. Maybe if I ever get the inspiration, I'll go back and re-write it, or something. I hope you enjoyed it. Because that's the downside. According to my stats, a bunch of people have read it, and there are ten of you following this, and I don't want to disappoint you guys.

So, yeah, I guess I had OC's in this. In case you didn't get it, they were totally the United Kingdom. I've written about them often, but this is the first one I've uploaded in which they've featured in. So I'll just like, end this a/n with a little bit more information on them. You can totally skip it if you don't give a shit.

**Ireland:** He's totally big and scary and scowls a lot. He always wears a yellow raincoat for some reason, and carries an umbrella. He hates everyone, 'cept Northern Ireland, who he has this weird love-hate relationship with. His human name is totally Patrick.

**Northern**** Ireland:** Originally, Northern Ireland was a guy, like everyone else, but then I felt she needed to be a girl for this one fanfic I was doing, and yeah, she kind of stayed that way. I'm pretty sure I did a decent description of her in the story. Obviously Ireland is her favourite brother, although she can't stand him sometimes. When she's a guy, I totally call her Bryin. When she's not a guy, she's Fiona.

**Scotland:** Yeah, I know, his name was creative. He hates everyone, especially England. However, Wales is his favourite victim, because Wales is easy to target, and, even though Wales in Scotland's favourite brother, Wales always chooses England over him, so he kind of wants to hurt him for his many betrayals. I often pair him with another OC, the Isle of Skye, who has another epically creative name of Skye, and they have a son, Balamory, a fictional seaside town (Google it) who's human name is Jonnie.

**Wales:** This guy is totally epic. He will do anything England says, because he's completely terrified of him. Actually, Wales is completely terrified of everyone. But mainly England and Scotland. He has a sheep called Owyn who represents Swansea and wears a scarf, and a dragon called Guin who represents Cardiff. I mean, Cardiff is only a baby dragon. The real dragon is something else entirely. But yeah, sometime I get bored and make Wales a girl, 'cuz he's so insanely feminine, but when he's a girl I refer to him as Cymru. And sometimes Swansea and Cardiff are people, and when they are, i pair Wales with one of them, depending on whether he's straight or not.

Ohonhonhonhonhon~ Here's your reward for a) reading this fanfic and b) forcing yourself to listen to some info on my OC's. Enjoy some virtual scones and leek soup!


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: **

It appears that, once again, I am here, starting a shitty a/n by thanking everyone who has red this. I am so grateful for you all. You make me feel like a real author, not just some stupid laptop owner with way too much free time and an over-active imagination.

We all remember what happened in this last chapter, right? Good.

You may find a dialogue between Mattie and Francis in which all of the words are in italic. This means that, were I able to speak French/trusted the internet to speak French for me, those line would be in French.

Yes, they have a coversation in French that's actually in English. But, if we learnt anything from Calpol (other than calpol is "la cura con todo), it was that Spanish is my strongest language after English, and I'm not even that great at Spanish.

If you haven't read Calpol, I suggest you at least consider it. It was fun to write, and I would hope it's fun to read.

Allergy Advice: Warning, chapter may contain traces of USUK  
>Recipe: Cannot guarantee yaoi free<br>Factory: Added swearing, OOC-ness, paranormal shit, more paranormal shit, mindless acceptance of paranormal shit, confusing plot-line-that-really-sucks, bad spelling and grammar.

I'm going to give you a question in classic exam style:

Underline one of the following:

author "Tal on the Inside" is:

a) the owner of Hetalia

b) tall

c) awesome 

d) all of the above

Seeing as the correct answer *wink wink nudge nudge* is c, we can all establish the fact I don't own Hetalia.

* * *

><p>He was laughing. It was loud and it was clear, and it rang out and merged with the sound of all the other children laughing and screaming.<p>

And it felt good.

He wished Alfred could've been there.

But Alfred was in America, with his mommy. He wasn't here. He'd never be here.

But he didn't mind. He had his dad, and his friends, and he had his home. He didn't need anything else.

He always felt wrong when his daddy took him to America for Christmas. He couldn't explain why. He just did.

He hoped the Alfred was having as much fun with his American friends as he was having with his friends right now.

"Tag!" one of them yelled, reaching out a tapping his arm. He began to run after them, face flushed with excitement.

"Mattie!" he heard his father call, "your dinner's ready!"

Everyone sighed. "Bye Mattie!" they called, some in English, some in French. He turned and waved to them in turn, smiling.

He skipped merrily through his front door. In one hand he held his bear, Kumajiro, who followed him everywhere.

His dad was smiling sadly down at him.

he jumped into his seat, placing Kumajirro carefully on the seat next to him. He grabbed the knife and the fork that were too large for him, and stabbed the food on his plate before shovelling it into his mouth.

His father sighed. He didn't want to have to say what he was about. The boy had always been shy, quiet. Even as newborns, it had been easy to tell the twins appart due to the fact that one of them would scream, and the other was silent.

He took the seat next opposite his son, and said, "Matthew, there's something I need to tell you."

Large violet eyes looked up at him. The seven-year-old's eyes seemed to be wise before their time.

His father took a deep breath. "We- you're mother and I have been talking. We really miss each other, you see? So we're- you and me are moving back to America."

His heart fell. "We- we are?"

His response was a nod.

"Oh."

Silence.

"You- You won't hate it too much, will you Mattie?"

The boy's was trembling. He was staring into his dinner like it could stop him from feeling sad.

"No," he finallly said. "I'll have mommy and Alfred back, won't I?"

Mr Williams nodded. "Yeah. So it won't be completely like we were starting again."

It was now his turn to nod.

He didn't really remember when Alfred was his brother. He loved him, and everyone said they had been together a lot, but he didn't remember him being his brother. He remember his mother, of course, but his brother...

He ate his dinner in silence.

He went through the next few weeks in silence.

He became clingy, clutching his bear more noticabley, almost as if he were sheilding himself from what was happening. It was like hidding behind Kumajirro made i harder to see all his problems.

His mother had been crying the day they'd gone "home". She had ran out to meet them, and held her arms wide, and clutched at him, holding him tightly, but not tight enough to hurt him, just tight enough to protect him.

"Your mine again," she'd whispered. "My Matthew. I'll never let go off you again."

And Alfred had been loud. He'd yelled at him with ectasy, telling his little brother about all the fun they were going to have, about all the epic times they'd have together, and dragging him into the house, determined to show him around, even though he knew where everything was, because they went there every year for Christmas.

He became the quiet boy immediatley. Not that he was that quiet, he just wasn't loud.

Alfred was.

Perhaps, because they were brothers, they were meant to be the same.

They weren't.

Alfred had introduced him to everyone at his school, going on about he was his little brother from the far away land of Canadia where they all spoke French and rode polar bears to school.

And he'd been too scared to correct him; so he became Matthew Williams, the freaky polar bear boy who didn't speak a word of English.

He didn't like it at all.

Alfred's best friend at the time had been a boy named Toris Lorninaitus. He was quiet and nervous, and the two were an odd pair.

He didn't like to break up their friendship, but when Alfred ha introduced them, the two shy boys had got on rather well.

Until they both became too self-conscious to say anything but "um" and fell into an awkward silence.

Still, at least he had someone he could consider a friend, other than Alfred.

It was four years after, with the same two boys that he had met Francis.

He had succeeded, with Toris' help, in finally dragging Alfred to the library in their second week of secondary school. Alfred had immediately noticed the English boy he was stalking being harassed by a group of three boys, one of whom he recognised, due to the fact he had gone to primary school with him.

"Gilbert! What are you doing to poor Artie!"

Arthur had cringed at the nickname and told Alfred to "bugger off" under his breath.

Gilbert has laughed, and protested it wasn't him doing anything, it was Francis.

Introductions had been made. Gilbert named them as "the unawesome loser who thinks he's more awesome than me", "his unawesome Russian friends", and the "unawesome polar bear boy who only spoke French".

He couldn't believe that the nickname had still stick with him. He had felt his cheeks grow hot.

Francis had looked up to him, a gleam in his eyes. "Bojour, mon cher," he began in French. "and what is your name?"

"I'm Matthew," he'd replied, slipping almost naturally into the language. He was slightly surprised. He hadn't really spoken French to another who appeared to be fluent in the language in years. Not that he'd been fluent in French. Not completely. Just a little bit. "But I speak English!" he'd promised, waving his hands frantically. "French is my second language!"

Francis had nodded, and returned to speaking in English. "So you're Canadian?"

He'd shown the accuracy of this comment with a swift bob of his head.

And from that day forward, he had been one of Francis' favourite...he didn't really know what. "Play things" came to mind, but that sounded really sinister.

He often wondered that things wouldn't have turned out the way they did, if the tiniest thing had gone differently; he hadn't allowed Alfred to introduce him as his little brother from the far away land of Canadia where they all spoke French and rode polar bears to school, if he hadn't dragged him to the library, if Gilbert hadn't remembered his nickname.

Maybe he wouldn't be in the predicament he was in now; spending his lunchtimes hiding from Francis, whom he may or may not be in love with, feeling second best to his hero of a brother, being told he was failing a subject because apparently he never showed up when he hadn't missed a lesson.

He removed his glasses, turned out his light, and tucked himself into bed. Tomorrow was a Thursday. It would be hell. He needed to sleep.

He still couldn't help but wonder if it would have changed.

He wondered what he wanted to change.

...

"OH FUCK! NO! NOT YOU!" Alfred yelled. He was fine with the threat of death looming over his head, he was fine with this Reversal shit, he was fine with having a Guardian Angel, and he was fine with all this magic crap. But this- this his was not okay with. "NO FUCKING WAY ARE YOU MY GUARDIAN ANGEL!"

The boy had pushed himself out of the floor and chuckled to himself. "Privet to you too Alfred."

"Oh no, don't you speak to me in your fucking Communist language! Go the fuck away so my real Guardian Angel can show up!"

Ivan dusted off the long tan coat he was wearing. "Ah, but Alfred, I am your Guardian Angel. No one else is coming, da?"

Alfred ran at him with the intention of punching his stupid Communist face.

Arthur watched the exchange with an amused smirk on his face.

And then, to not only his shock, but the shock of everyone else around him, including Ivan, the floor had lit up again.

"Arthur, what the hell are you doing?" Alfred had asked. "We already have one bastard who's convinced he's my Guardian Angel! We don't need any more!"

"I'm- I'm not doing anything!" He threw his hands back. "It's doing it itself!"

A horrified expression of realisation had dawned on Ivan's face, moment's before a black person-shaped shadow had flew out of the ground and grabbed Arthur by the scruff of his shirt.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY BIG BROTHER?" The shadow became more person-like with every second. Alfred quickly recognised the long hair and the white ribbon, even if she was dressed in a manner unfamiliar to him. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH HIM?"  
>"Natalia," Ivan had called, "I'm fine! Leave the boy alone!"<p>

At his voice, Natalia had released her grip on Arthur, and thrown herself at Ivan, squealing, "big brother!" contently.

"Wait, you're her brother?" Alfred asked. At Ivan's nod, he had continued with, "Since when?"

"They're Angels Alfred," Arthur, who had toppled to the ground when Natalia had discarded him, informed Alfred, picking himselff off of the floor, andrubbingng his neck, "do you really think "Braginski" and "Alfroskaya" are their real names? Most likely they're just the names they've adopted for this incarnation."

"What?" He was lost.

Natalia rolled her eyes, and hugged Ivan to her protectively. "You better not have told him anything," she muttered. "Not after what happened last time."

Ivan nodded. "I won't tell him, sis. I want to stay is this world as much as you want me to."

Alfred turned his head back to the two on his right. "What?" he asked again, still lost.

"Nyet! He'll tell you nothing!" screamed Natalia.

"Dude, I already know about the Reversal! All I want is for you to tell me how I can stop it!"

"You can't," sneered Natalia. "If this happens again, my brother won't be allowed to continue living in this world!"

"Again? You mean...this has happened to one of Ivan's wards before?" pondered Arthur.

Ivan nodded. "I tell you story if you want, da?"

Both Alfred and Arthur nodded. Ivan sat cross-legged on the floor, and motioned for them all to do the same.

"Angels never grow older than eighteen," he explained. Natalia looked at him in shock. "When we turn eighteen, we are deemed ready to go out and guide mortals."

"Ivan!" Natalia cried. "You can't tell them this!"

He made a shushing sign with his hand. She sighed, sitting next to him in order to help with the story.

"We live eighteen human years, the we return to our home. What we helped our human accomplish in those years define the sort of human we'll help next."

"I'm sorry to interrupt," said Arthur, "but what do you mean, "Helped our human to accomplish"?"

Natalia scowled. "Everyone is born with a destiny. For some," she glared at Alfred, "it is to die. For others, it may be to achieve great things. Say you were destined to be a great musician; it's up to your Angel to get you into music, and to help you. If they don't, then they are perverting your destiny. Another Angel may have to bend the rules and interfere."

"Well who's Angel are you Natalia? 'Cuz I don't see you lining up to help people," Alfred narrowed his gaze.

She smiled slyly. "Francis'."

Alfred felt his eyebrows rise. "And what's his destiny?"

She laughed. "Like I'd tell you, Jones!"

Ivan continued with his story. "The last human I had was meant to die in a very similar way to Alfred. But he didn't."

"He didn't because you had to interfere, didn't you?" Natalia hit him angrily. "Because that's what happens when you decide you're obsessed with a human who's meant to die and hates your guts."

Ivan ignored this comment. "They- the other Angels- were very disappointed in me for this. So they gave me another boy who was to die young, to make sure I didn't mess up again. But your brother interfered. And now they're angry with me and my sister."

Alfred turned to Natalia. "Why are they mad with you?"

"They're not."

"But he just said-"

"It's possible to have more than one sister Jones! We have an older sister! She's your brothers Angel!"

"Oh," that made sense to him.

"Anyway, as my brother said, we can't help you. if we do, this'll be the second destiny in a row he's perverted, and they won't trust him with another human. So we'll be leaving, seeing as we'll be no use to you mere mortals."

"Wait, could another Guardian Angel help me?"

"Da, Jones, someone else could help you, providing they're an Angel."

"So...who's Artie's Angel?"

Natalia looked at Arthur, her gaze cold. "He doesn't have one."

"WHAT?"  
>"How can I not have a Guardian Angel?" Arthur's eyes were wide and frantic. "You said everyone has one!"<p>

"Da...Everyone but you," Ivan looked slightly confused. Natalia rolled her eyes and pointed to the circle on the floor. "Oh!" His eyes lit up. "Of course!"

"Of course what?" yelled Arthur.

"Dude, maybe you don't have a soul beaus of all this black magic shit you're into!

Natalia smiled. "Close enough Jones."

Ivan chuckled. "There's no place in Heaven for witchcraft. Arthur's destined for Hell, da?"

She nodded.

Whilst this comment seemed to paralyse Arthur completely, Alfred screamed, "SO WHO ELSE IS A MOTHER FUCKING ANGEL?"  
>The two looked at each other. Ivan began counting of fingers.<p>

"Well there's Berwarld-"

"-and Mathais-"

"-and Vash, of course-"

"-oh, and Gilbert and Ludwig-"

"Wait," Alfred raised his hands to say stop, "GILBERT is an Angel?" He didn't think that the albino really fit the stereotype, but then again, neither did Communist Ivan and psyco-murderess Natalia.

"Da," nodded Ivan. "For the little Austrian boy."

"The Austrian boy? You mean Roderich?"

"Da."

"The once he totally broke the heart of last year?"

"Da." Ivan seemed to be growing bored with this conversation.

"How the hell is that helping him accomplish his destiny?"

Natalia folded her arms. "Because the heartbreak inspired Roderich to compose the piano piece that will later be used to help him pass a Masters degree in Music, enabling him to become a famous composer. This conversation is now over."

"But-"

It's over, da?" She grabbed Ivan's arm. More glowing light surrounded the two, and they disappeared once again.

"Well," groaned Alfred. "That accomplished nothing!"

Arthur shrugged. "I suppose," he said, emotionlessly.

"Dude," Alfred turned to him. "You okay?"

"I don't know Alfred, how would you feel if you discovered you were destined to eternal damnation!" he yelled, throwing he hands in the air.

"Well, I'm destined to die-"

"We're all destined to die, Alfred! It's what happens after that counts! And I'm going to be burning in Hell while you're up in Heaven with those who've done good in their life, drinking tea and looking down on you fucking loved ones!"

Alfred couldn't imagine the emotional turmoil Arthur must have been experiencing, but he had he own problems, and couldn't help but think that it was cruel of Arthur to take out his anger on him. "Dude, no one's guaranteed a place in Heaven! For all we know, I'm going to Hell too, and if we don't sort this out, I'll be dead by the end of the week!"  
>Arthur sighed. "Right; we should focus on your problem."<p>

The American was surprised by his willingness to back down. He stopped being angry with him, just like that.

"Yeah," he nodded. "So we have to go find one of these other Angel dudes, right?"

Arthur bobbed his head in agreement.

Alfred clapped his hands together, and forced his face into it's usual optimistic smile.

"Well then; let's go find us an Angel dude!"

...

"This is all your fault!" she screamed.

Mattie tried to make himself as small as possible. "I-I'm sorry! I didn't k-know any of this would h-h-happen1"

She scowled, flicking her hair over her shoulder and bringing her hands to rest on her hips. She turned. "And you should have been taking better care of him too, you idiot!"

Yekaterina shook her head sadly. "Natalia, you don't understand-"

"Oh, I understand perfectly! You're trying to steal Ivan from me!" Natalia was in a rage, her eyes glowing with abhorrence. She pointed accusingly at her sister. "You thought that if he fucked up another mortals' destiny he'd have to stay in this world, with you, as opposed to their world, with me!"

She looked ready to kill someone.

Which really wasn't very angelic.

"It's not like that at all," Yekaterina smiled sadly.

Cold grey eyes met her gaze. "Why didn't you stop him?"

"He- He reminded me of you."

"What?" Natalia recoiled, her express of hatred replaced with one of shock and confusion.

"I haven't seen either of you in what, fifteen years? And then suddenly, he boy has this desire to save his older brother's life. And in one second his devotion to his brother is large enough for him to be willing to give his life for him. Doesn't that sound the tiniest bit familiar to you?"

Natalia chewed her lip.

Then she began to scowl. "You still shouldn't have-"

"I know I shouldn't have, but I did," she chuckled. "And now we must all face those consequences."

Sat down in the corned, Mattie hugged his knees to his chest.

He didn't want to be here. He didn't belong in this world.

And then he realised he wasn't there, not really.

Because part of him was dying in a hospital bed somewhere.

And part of him was living inside of Alfred.

He hated that. He felt like part of his soul was taking over Alfred, corrupting him, slowly killing him.

He didn't want to be responsible for his brother's death. There had to be a way out of it.

And he stood by what he said earlier; if there was a way out, Alfred would find it.

He hoped Alfred would find it soon.

* * *

><p><strong>Extended an:**

I think this chapter was shorter than the others. Which is a mercy, I suppose, seeing as how it's mostly dialogue. I think I did a pretty good job of explaining the whole Reversal thing in the last chapter, and the whole Angel thing in this one, but I'm not the best at explaining, so if any of you are confused, feel free to message me or whatever, and I'll attempt to explain better.

This chapters Random Canada Flashback(pretend TM of TotI) was brought to you by: Some Person! I'd put your name here, but I'll fail at spelling it and don't want to embarrass you. Anyway, Some Person left a review sugesting that Canada flashback could be stuff at school, dinner or hanging with some friends. I kind of mushed them all together to form this flashback. I hope you liked it.

I think I know what his flashback for next time will be. Hopefully it will explain where exactly he is, and what the hell is going on.

So yeah, a bunch of the world is populated by Angels. Fun. I threw a bunch of names of some other Angels in there, so you guys can try and work out who our hero is going to go to for help in the next chapter. And England totally doesn't have an Angel because I was not creative enough to give him an Angel. It's not 'cuz he's special or any- oh wait, according to the plot it is because he's special... forget everything I just said. Let's go with the plot. Yeah...

I think this chapter could have been better, and longer, but in all honesty, I like it like this.

I feel like this story doesn't have too long until it's resolved...however, when it comes to that, I have about as much clue as you guys as to what's going to happen yet, because the next couple of chapters are just random sentences floating around in the abyss of my mind, and have yet to be typed up, or written full stop.

So no one knows how this is going to end. That's fun.

Reviews are appreciated. Also, what with all the attention this story's getting, my other stories are feeling unloved. If you haven't read them, you should check some of them out. They like being read.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:**

You're reading this. That automatically makes you just as awesome as Prussia. At least, to me it does. Last time I checked my stats, this story was well on it's way to 500 hits! Or was it 600? THAT IS BECAUSE OF ALL YOU AWESOME PEOPLE, READING THIS CRAPPY A/N! THANK YOU! THANK YOU!

Sorry about the delay. I know I've been updating irregularly, because I cannot keep to timetables and I'm always late, but I'm pretty sure there has only been about two days between each upload. I'm probably wrong, but it just feels like it's been ages since I last updated. It probably hasn't.

Allergy Advice: Warning, chapter may contain traces of USUK, PrusAus, GerIta  
>Recipe: Cannot guarantee yaoi free<br>Factory: Added swearing, OOC-ness, paranormal shit, more paranormal shit, mindless acceptance of paranormal shit, confusing plot-line-that-really-sucks, boring- AWESOME- backstories, hints at character death (hasn't there been hints at character death throughout the entire thing?), bad spelling and grammar.

Are we sitting comfortably? Good. Then I'll begin.

* * *

><p>His first thoughts were of Alfred.<p>

He assumed this was odd. In all the films, the books, the everything, the first thing the protagonist would say after waking up in an unfamiliar room, with an unfamiliar person, after experiencing a near-death experience, would be, "Am I dead?"

Yet his first frantic yell was, "Alfred!"

The woman with him in the wherever-the-hell-he-was turned. Her eyes were wide. Her worried frown became a small, sad smile.

"You're awake," she observed.

"Where's Alfred? Is he alright?" There were so many questions running through his head, but these seemed to be the only ones his mouth would let him say.

She met his violet gaze with her own concerned gaze. He couldn't quite work out whether her eyes were blue or grey. "Matthew," she began, tucking a strand of her short blonde hair behind her ear, "there are some things we need to talk about."

His heart filled with dread. He was the one who had been hit by the truck. Surely no harm had come to his brother. It couldn't have. He saved him.

He had accepted that saving his brother would be his final act.

But he was also proud that it would be the last thing he ever did right.

It would be the only thing he had ever done right.

"Did- Did something happen to Alfred?" he asked, swallowing his fear and sorrow.

She shook her head. "No," she said simply. "Not yet."

"Not yet? So- So something's going to happen to him?" The fear that he had only just swallow resurfaced. He choked on it as he asked her.

She nodded. "It's his destiny Matthew. There was nothing you could do."

"Wh- What?" Now she was making no sense. "Destiny? What are you on about? Who- Who are you?"

It felt weird to hear the words, "Who are you?" and for him not to sigh with disappointment and mumble, "I'm Matthew Williams," in response.

Smiling, she extended a hand, and said, "My name is Yekaterina. I'm your Guardian Angel."

"You're my what?"

"I'm your Guardian Angel."

"I- I have a Guardian Angel?" She was joking, right? He couldn't have a Guardian Angel. Why would anyone want to watch and protect him?

"Everyone has a Guardian Angel. At least, until they're eighteen."

"E-Everyone has a Guardian Angel?"

"Um-hmm. I'd say about a quarter to a third of the people you know from school are Guardian Angels."

"But you claim to be my Guardian Angel, and I've never seen you before."

"Oh, well," she tucked her hands into her pockets, "that's because I'm not a very good Guardian Angel. I'm not allowed to interact with you in your world. But I've been watching over you since the day you were born."

Well, that made him feel better. It wasn't like he already had a perverted half-stalker.

"But that's not what we're here to talk about. We are here to talk about your Reversal."

"My what?"

"Well, you see, everyone has a destiny. Your brother's was to get hit by that truck. But you perverted that destiny."

"I perverted it?" There was only one thing the word perverted brought to mind, and it was not saving his brother's life.

"Yes. You twisted it, contorted it, changed it into something unrecognisable. And now you must undergo a Reversal."

"What- What exactly is a Reversal?"

The smiled became tainted with sorrow, the gleam in her eyes diminishing slightly. "It's destiny's way of correcting itself."

...

"I don't think this is gunna work," moaned Alfred, pulling the sleeves of his school jumper down over his hands.

"Well, too bad! However shit it is, it's the only thing we have that resembles a plan, and furthermore, it was your fucking idea!"

He looked at his feet and fidgeted. "Yeah, but maybe going up to him and being all "Hey dude, I know you're an Angel, help me cheat destiny!" isn't really the most heroic plan I've ever come up with."

Arthur scoffed and folded his arms. "You were more than happy to do it last night."

"Dude, no offence or anything, but last time I was high on whatever the fuck you and your brother had cooked. I don't think I was really in control of my thoughts. I mean, seriously, that shit should come with a "DANGER OF DEATH" warning."

He received a sharp elbow to his ribs.

"That shit was scones and leek soup! Be thankful we didn't let Scott cook Haggis!"

It was Wednesday. After summoning his "Angel", Alfred had tried to come up with a foolproof plan to trick another Angel into helping him. Of course, his plans had all sucked. They were now left with confrontation.

Alfred had, of course, stayed for dinner at the Kirklands. And, after meeting all of them, he started to understand why Arthur didn't talk about them often. There weren't enough words to describe the insanity that that dinner had bee

The two were in their first lesson, and Arthur was trying to convince Alfred to actually take part in his masterplan, which would take place next block, in Chemistry.

Both were aware that, if this plan fell through, today would be Alfred's last day.

Neither of them wanted to say it aloud, but they could see it lurking in the others eyes whenever their gazes met.

The world was continuing around him. Alfred noticed no change in anyone else behaviour. Yong Soo was harrassing Yao, he could hear Heracles' snores from the other side of the room, there was the constant typing of Toris, his fingers hitting the keys at a rate he doubted was humanly possible, whilst his Polish friend grabbed at his arms and whined. Every Wednesday began like this. This was the basis of every IT lesson he had endured for the past year and a bit.

He never thought he'd miss it.

But, with the threat of death looming so close, he realised that he;d taken everything for granted.

He liked how every lesson followed the same routine. It showed the definite characters he was sat with.

He liked being surrounded by these people. He'd known most of them for at least four years.

He found himself wondering how his death would affect them.

And then he remembered he wouldn't be dead, not really.

Mattie's body would be dead, as would the Alfred everyone else knew.

in his place would be a shell. Inside that shell would be Mattie. Mattie would see through his eyes, pilot his body, live his life.

To everyone else, he would be Alfred. To Arthur, he would be Mattie in Alfred's skin.

Alfred liked his skin. He wanted to continue to wear it. He wanted to continue to be him.

He wanted to continue to live.

He wanted both he and his brother to live.

His hand clenched into a fist.

"Fine," he grumbled. "I'll do it."

...

Their Chemistry teacher was always late.

Always.

Even on what was possible the last day Alfred would ever live, his Chemistry teacher was late.

So he got to enjoy standing in a crowded corridor with thirty or so over-active fifteen-year-olds, a handful of whom may have been sixteen, for about five minutes. And, when they were finally let in, they were reminded that they weren't trusted enough to sit where they wanted, and had to sit in alphabetical order.

Fortunately for him, J was next to K.

Arthur looked pointedly at him, and tilted his head at the boy sat to his left. Alfred nodded, understanding completely.

"Hey Mathais," he whispered, leaning in front of Arthur.

The boy looked up. He ran a hand through his jagged, gravity defying hair, and grinned at him. "'Sup Jones?"

"Dude," he began. "I know you're an Angel."

Arthur slapped a hand against his forehead. "Subtle Alfred," he muttered. "Subtle."

"You- What?" Mathais' face had fallen. The promise of violence lurked upon his charming features. "I have no clue what you're in about Jones."

Alfred grit his teeth. "The time for secrets is over. I know about Angels, and I know about the Reversal, and I don't want it to happen."

Mathais returned Alfred's burning, determined gaze with a cold unflinching one of his own. "I think you've got the wrong guy," he answered.

"Look, I need your help-"

"What makes you think I'm going to be able to give it to you?" he snapped. The girl sitting in front of him turned and looked at him oddly for a second, before returning to her work.

Mathais looked back to his textbook. "We all have destiny's Alfred. It's not my fault or my problem your brother fucked yours up."

Arthur scowled. "But you know how to help him, don't you?"

"Of course he knows how to help him; he's just too fucking unawesome to do it!"

Three pairs of eyes flew to the albino leaning on their desk. One pair narrowed in anger.

"You doubt my awesomeness, do you?" Mathais raised a slender eyebrow, one side of his mouth curled up into what could have been either a smile or a snarl.

"Fuck yes I do!" growled Gilbert.

"Well, let's hear you say that next time I have my battleaxe out, hey Gil?"

"Kesesese, your battleaxe is about as awesome as you. There's no way it could wound the invincible awesome me!"

"Dudes, we were talking about me not dying!" interrupted Alfred, impatient.

"Ja, we were," Gilbert turned to him. "You want to cancel the Reversal? You wanna let your brother die?"

"What? No! Mattie isn't allowed to die!" Alfred's tone was frantic,his eyes wild. "We have to both live!"

Gilbert chuckled again. "You know how much this is gunna cost you, don't you?"

He recoiled. "Cost me?"

"Well, I'm not gunna risk getting kicked out of the League of Awesome Angels for free, am I?"

Mathais rolled his eyes. "You're the only member in your stupid league. How the hell are you gonna get kicked out?"

His response was a shrug. "Fine, maybe I'll consider helping you guys out for free. 'Cuz I'm awesome like that."

Mathais muttered something under his breath and turned to the boy on his left, trying to copy his work.

"So?" Alfred leaned closer to Gilbert. "How d'we do it?"

"Well, we're gunna need the help of your wizard friend," Gilbert's gaze fell upon Arthur. "And the awesome me will require some kind of payment."

"Like what?" Alfred began to worry. He was an Angel, after all. What if he wanted their souls or something?

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "I'm gunna have to force you to listen to an awesome backstory if you really want the answer to that."

"Dude, I wanna hear your backstory! I wanna know what I have to pay! 'Cuz I'll pay it! I will!"

The boy opened his mouth to speak, but the words that came from his mouth were, "Beilschmidt! Back to your seat!"

Alfred found it ironic that an immortal being had to answer to a thirty-something woman with bleached hair and crappy contacts.

"So we did it," he turned to Arthur. "He's gunna help us! I'm not gunna die!"

Arthur chewed his bottom lip, lost in thought. "Are you not in the least bit concerned as to what his fee may be?"

Alfred shrugged. "Dude, I'll pay it. You know why? Because I'll be alive!"

...

Gilbert had been in Arthur's History, and had told him that he and Alfred needed to meet him in the library at lunch. Arthur had passed this message onto Alfred when he'd passed him on his way to Maths. And the two found themselves exactly where they'd said they'd be at the time they said they'd be there.

They also found Gilbert, who they'd been expecting, and Ludwig, his brother, who they had not.

The group took a table. Gilbert placed his hands out in front of him and clasped them. In a business-like tone, he said, "So we're here to discuss my payment, are we not?"

"Why's he here?" Alfred asked, narrowing his gaze and staring at Ludwig, who looked like this was the last place on Earth he wanted to be.

"Trust me Alfred, were it not for what can be gained from this, I wouldn't be here," he said, grimacing.

"Why?" asked Arthur. "What can be gained?"

Gilbert began to smile. "Mortality."

"Mortality?" Arthur tested the word on his lips. "That seems like a very odd thing for an Immortal to seek."

Ludwig shook his head. "You haven't been an Immortal. You can't understand what it's like."

"Ja. We don't want to do it any more," nodded Gilbert. "We're sick of it. we want to grow up, be awesome, die! I want to live my life putting the awesome me first, not some stupid little human who doesn't know shit about awesome, and won't be grateful for my help!"

"But dudes, you live forever! You never age!" Alfred's exclamation received a stern shush from the librarian. Lowering his voice, he said, "Do you know how many people would kill to be like that?"

Shaking his head, Ludwig said coldly, "You have no idea what it's like; knowing exactly how someone you care about is going to die, knowing their destiny, knowing their future and how long it will take them to...to forget you."

Arthur began to understand. "How exactly will you obtain mortality from this? From reversing the Reversal?"

Gilbert chuckled. "Because the only way to "reverse a Reversal" is to slay an Angel."

Silence.

"You- You want me to kill you?" Alfred choked on the words.

Again, they were met with Gilbert's terrifying, inhuman laugh. "Please," he said, once he's calmed down, "I'm fucking immortal. You think someone as unawesome as you can kill me?"

He continued to laugh.

Because his brother appeared to be incapable of explaining, Ludwig took the task upon himself. "Stabbing an Angel with a knife of Silver will almost kill them. They enter a state of almost-death, in which they are neither awake nor asleep."

Almost-death...hadn't Alfred described Mattie as being almost-dead?

"If, during that time," Ludwig's gaze met Arthur's, "a certain incantation is made by someone who is gifted in the ways of the occult, then when said Angel wakes, their dreaming-state over, they'll be mortal."

"And you know his incantation?" asked Arthur, raising an eyebrow.

Gilbert stopped laughing. "The awesome me has known it for the last three cycles! I just haven't found anyone to cast it!"

Arthur looked between the two brothers. "You realise how many destiny's you'll be altering by becoming mortal?"

"Screw destiny!" snarled Gilbert. "Look what destiny made me do to Roddy! Look what destiny's doing to your boyfriend! Look what destiny has in store for you Arthur! I say we're all better off without it! World'll be a hell of a lot more awesome if we could all just do whatever the fuck we wanted!"

A tiny smile danced across the Englishman's lips. He nodded. Gilbert beamed.

"So what happens now?" Alfred asked. "Our deal's been made. You're gunna help me, right?"

"Of course! Do you not trust me and my awesome self!" cried Gilbert, whilst Ludwig merely gave a stern nod.

Alfred shook his head, not wanting his newly-made bargain to be destroyed. "no, I just- I wanna know what's gunna happen."

Gilbert sighed. "We're gunna need to be in your brother's room in the hospital at about nine. However, we're also gonna be totally awesome rebels and stay past visiting hours. Because otherwise you'll die."

The American nodded.

"You need to bring something precious to your brother. And Mr Wizard needs to bring a knife, preferably silver, and a chalice, also preferably silver. Now," he rose from his seat, "Francis and Toni are probably wondering where the fuck the awesome me is, so, I'm just gunna leave now."

True to his word, he just left.

Ludwig started to rise from his seat. "I should probably leave too. There's no way of knowing how much destruction Feliciano has caused without me."

"You were on about him earlier, weren't you?" Alfred looked up at the tall, blonde German. His uniform was pristine, his hair gelled back.

"Was I?" he asked in an uniterested manner.

"Yeah. You told Artie he had no idea what it's like to know how long it would take those you care about to forget you."

Ludwig froze, halfway through slinging his rucksack over his shoulder. "What of it?"

"How long would it take Feliciano to forget you?"

His cold blue gaze told Alfred it was something he really didn't want to discuss.

And yet, he stated, "At the age of twenty-one, Feliciano will be taking a course in Catering at a prestigious university. His future is bright. He has everthing in front of him. His career looks very promising.

On the twenty-ninth of February, he'll take a short-cut home from his university. The short-cut will take him through an alley. In that alley, he will be attacked and mugged. His wounds will be fatal. My name will be the last thing he ever says."

Alfred didn't know if it was the horror of his friends destiny that made him feel sick, or the matter-of-fact manner Ludwig had just stated it in.

"So he never forgets you?" mumbled Arthur, caught up in the Gothic beauty of it all.

Ludwig shrugged. "I don't want his life to end like that. I won't allow it. I will be there to protect him on that night. I will not be reliving the same life, looking after some three-year-old, trapped in the body of a three-year-old. That is why I need to be mortal."

Arthur nodded. "I understand."

The German turned to leave.

Alfred turned to Arthur, and took his hand.

"If we somehow manage to fuck this up," he said, "you realise that I- That I-"

"I know, love, I know," Arthur's gentle tone cut him off. "You're not doing anyone any favours by reminding us of it."

He nodded. He felt his grip on the Brits' hand tighten.

If this was going to be his last day, he wanted Arthur to know he loved him. He wanted Arthur to remember that he loved him.

He wanted Arthur to remember him as the hero. The hero who wore a brave face in the shadow of death. The hero who would not stop trying to save his brother.

He didn't want Arthur to remember him as the little boy who was terrified, who was amazed he wasn't crying.

On the inside, the was no hero. There was only Alfred.

And Alfred was shitting himself.

He had never been less like a hero in his entire life.

* * *

><p><strong>Extended an: **

Okay, I know for a fact this chapter was extremely short. And it was mostly dialogue. Which sucks.

I didn't feel completely satisfied with Mattie's flashback, but I started writing, and I was just like, in the zone, and I couldn't remember how much of the plot I'd already explained. Then I realised I had kind of explained everything.

I have no idea whether there will be a Mattie flashback in the next chapter. But I do think the next chapter will be the last chapter. I just wish I had the tiniest clue how the hell I'm going to end this.

Maybe someone will die...

Gah! Did you guys see the tiny mention of Poland I shoved in there? I love Poland! He's like, totally the best! And yet the biggest mention he has ever gotten in anything I have written is "that Polish kid", which is what he;s referred to as in "Snow" as well.

How was that for a plot twist? If you all guessed that Denmark was gonna be the guy America asks for help from, have a virtual scone. If you guessed that it was gonna be Prussia and Germany who ended up helping, have a virtual scone. If you just read the following sentence, have a virtual scone.

Ohonhonhon~ I managed to sneak PrusAus and GerIta into this chapter too.

Yeah, backstories are my weakness. Every character has a backstory, and I create them in my mind as I'm writing, and I have to keep reminding myself that I'm the only one who knows them, no one else does, so I can't but hints to them. So we get a snippet of Germany and Prussia's backstory in this chapter. Yayyy!

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed. Reviews are the best. I'd also like to thank the user who favourited this story! Again, names won't be mentioned, because I don't want to embarrass anyone, but thank you! All my other have favourites, and I was worried I was doing something wrong with this one. But you, you made me realise that I was doing something right.

All of you make me feel like I'm doing something right. Thanks for reading, reviewing, and watching.

Prussia is jealous of how awesome you guys are.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: **

I want to take the time to once again thank all of you wonderful readers. Part of my New Years' Resolution is to make more of an effort to thank you guys for reading and reviewing, which is something I feel I don't do enough of.

Allergy Advice: Warning, chapter may contain traces of USUK, PruAus, PruHun, GerIta  
>Recipe: Cannot guarantee yaoi free<br>Factory: Added swearing, OOC-ness, paranormal shit, more paranormal shit, mindless acceptance of paranormal shit, confusing plot-line-that-really-sucks, sucky flashbacks & backstories, violence, random shit that isn't rally relevant to the plot line, OTT Poland, bad spelling and grammar.

Still don't own Hetalia, just in case you were wondering.

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><p>Fear gripped every inch of his body, and shook him in large uncontrollable shudders.<p>

He felt like a murderer.

Because that's what he was. He was taking his brothers' life away from him.

It was life Alfred was a wet sponge, and he was wringing the water from it. With every twist, Alfred became less like Alfred, and more like him.

He didn't want this to happen.

And here he was, helpless, as per usual, unable to anything, whilst his heroic older brother was left to save the day.

He pulled his knees closer to him, and hugged them against his chest. He rested his chin against his neck, and tried to pretend he wasn't crying.

He wondered why he didn't get a say in this.

He didn't want to be Alfred.

He'd never wanted to be Alfred.

Admittedly, as any sibling, he had felt sparks of jealousy when he'd watched his brother obtain all the attention, all the affection, all the everything. But he'd always been more than happy being him. He'd never thought about being Alfred.

He wanted Alfred to be Alfred.

His entire body tense, his shuddering ceasing with the realisation that, if his brother couldn't stop it, if his brother failed, then he would be Alfred, and Alfred would be dead.

This destiny thing wasn't for the greater good. It wasn't for the protection of mankind.

It was just another way to control them, another way to prevent them from rising against what was approved of.

It was another way for society to let everyone know where they stood.

It was just another rule that was never to be broken.

But then again, he thought smiling, his brother was never one to follow rules.

...

With a sharp crack, the water pipe collided with his head. Blood trickled from the newly-inflicted wound, falling slowly down his pale skin, matching the colour of his eyes.

"You are an idiot!" yelled Ivan. "How could you agree to help him?"

Gilbert stood tall, proud. He would not give in to the stronger Angel.

He was too awesome for that.

"I could agree to it because I'm awesome," he replied, looking at him with cold eyes.

Ivan was pushed sharply to the side. Natalia grabbed the neck of Gilbert's shirt and pressed her knife against his throat.

"You realise now," she snarled, "we have to kill both you and your brother."

He stared at her nonchalantly. "You won't kill the awesome me. I can tell you two are getting sick of it too."

"Sick of what?" she growled.

"Sick of eternity!" he replied back in an angry tone. He pushed her away.

She shook her head. "We are meant to survive an eternity. How can one tire of it?"

Ivan looked down at the pipe in his hands, now stained with Gilbert's blood."Da," he said, distantly.

Gilbert smiled mischevioulsy. "I bet you'd like to turn nineteen."

Their eyes widened, their gazes meeting. Clearly they thought such a thing was impossible.

"We're already decades older than nineteen," Ivan replied, his grip on the water pipe.

"That's my destiny," smiled Gilbert, eyes gleaming. "To turn nineteen. If it means I have to help some arrogant unawesome mortal, so be it."

Ivan turned to Natalia. "If it's his destiny to turn nineteen, we can't kill him at the age of fifteen."

"What? No, brother, we need to kill him!" Her eyes were desperate. "He can't help- I won't lose you!"

"Natalia, this time is borrowed. I should have moved on to another mortal a week ago."

She threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest.

"So if Alfred doesn't die, you'll stay with me, da?"

He nodded. "Da."

She grabbed his scarf, and rubbed it against her cheeks.

Ivan couldn't decide whether it was a good thing he was able to stay with his sister, or if he wanted to live without her.

Oh well. He had eternity to make up his mind.

...

Arthur seemed to want to spend the rest of lunch in the library. Apparently there was some research in there he needed to do, because he was failing this subject and that subject and he had some exam on this day, and he really could use the extra chance to prepare.

But he wanted to use the time to say goodbye.

He'd come to terms with the fact that whatever he had agreed to do tonight might not work.

He had accepted the fact this might be his last opportunity to see the people who had shaped his life for the past fifteen years.

These were the people who had made him who he was. They'd introduced him to his likes, they'd persuaded him against his dislikes. They had each had a part in creating the hero he was.

And this could very well be his last chance to thank them for it.

...

_"Hey, watcha doin'?"  
>The boy raised a trembling finger to his lips and whispered, "Shush!" <em>

_Alfred didn't like being told to shush. He hated it when his mom did it, and he hated it when this new teacher-lady he had did it. He folded his chubby arms and pouted. "All I want to know is what you're doing." _

_"Hiding," had been his quiet response. _

_"Why're you hiding? You playing hide-and-go-seek or something?" _

_The boy shook his head. His hair was long and dark. It was matted and framed his face. "'M hiding from I-Ivan." _

_"Ivan?" asked Alfred. "The big kid who won't let me play with him?" _

_Shaking, the boy nodded.  
>"He s-scares me. He's mean."<em>

_Alfred knelt down, enabling himself to meet the gaze of the by hiding in the shrubbery. _

_"I don't like him either," he said. "If you promise to play with me, I;ll protect you from him." _

_Hope lit up the other boys eyes. "You- You will?" _

_"Mm-hmm. The names Alfred. I'm a hero!" _

_Crawling out from under the bush, the boy mumbled, "M-My name's Toris." _

_"Well Toris, starting today, you're my best friend." He reached out and lightly hit Toris' arm. "And you're it!" he yelled, turning on his heel to run. _

There were several possible places Toris could be.

Since he disliked being in crowded areas, it was unlikely he would be in any of the areas the majority of the students in his year liked to hang out.

He wasn't in the library, which was where he usually spent his lunchtimes, meaning he was with probably with Feliks. And Feliks liked to hang out wit Elizaveta, and Elizaveta liked to hang out with Roderich, and Roderich liked to hang out with his piano.

This chain of thought led him to his old Music room.

He opened the door, and was hit with a wave of memories. He hadn't been in the room in years. It was exactly how he remembered it, an overflowing trolley with things like bells and hand-drums shoved onto it, keyboards and computers around the outside, a bunch of desks in the middle.

Oh, and two fifteen-year-olds having some form of argument towards the front of the room, by the whiteboard.

One of them shoved a thingie in the others face (Alfred was pretty sure it was called a bow. It was used to play a violin).

"Elizaveta," he said, frowning, "you are incapable of playing a single instrument, despite how hard I attempt to teacher you, and you will remain that way forever!"

Her face was horrified. "But Roddy-"

"No. That is my final word on the matter."

He turned away from her. she flung her hands out, and said, "Feliks likes my piano-playing, don't you Feliks?"

A boy Alfred hadn't realised was sitting on the front desk, swinging his legs, smiled and answered, "Like, totally!"

Roderich sighed. "Seeing as his vocabulary consists of the words "totally" and "like", I really don't think Feliks' opinion is all that valid."

"Hey, my opinion is like, totally valid!"

Toris, whom Alfred had also failed to notice, turned around from the computer and asked, "Do you even know what valid means?"

Beaming, Feliks shook his head. "Nope. But whatever it like, is, I totally am it!"

"Toris!" Alfred yelled, causing the boy to jump.

Clearly no one had noticed his presence.

Odd. That never happened to him. It tended to happen to Mattie.

"Alfred," said Toris, rising from his seat, "what are you-"

He was cut off mid-sentence by the American throwing his arms around him.

"Dude, what the hell?" he heard Feliks say angrily. "Let go of my Toris, or I'll like, totally apply the Poland rule!"

Alfred continued to hug his friend. He suddenly realised how confused the Lithuanian must have been, seeing as the two had barely spoken in little over two years.

"Thank you," he stated.

"For- For what?" replied a very nervous Toris.

"For being my friend for all those years," replied Alfred, smiling.

"Right, you totally asked for it! This is like, your last chance to let go of him before I apply the Poland rule, and Warsaw ends up your capital!"

Toris was unsure how to reply. "Maybe I should- should thank you. You were my friend too."

Alfred had never thought about it like that.

"That's it! Warsaw is now your capital!"

He let go. "What the fuck are you on Feliks?"

Feliks shrugged, smiling smugly. "Don't like, come crying to me. I totally gave you fair warning. Warsaw being your new capital is no problem of mine, dude."

Alfred shook his head and left.

"What was that all about?" asked Roderich, turning to Toris, whilst Elizaveta teased Feliks about how jealous he had been.

"I- I'm not really sure," replied Toris timidly. "He said thank you, and then he left."

...

_It was his first day, and he had Maths. _

_As if it couldn't get any worse than that. _

_It was like the school was trying to say, "Hey Alfred, you're gonna be here for the next seven years, and we're gonna make your life hell while that happens!" _

_This was proved right by the teacher organising the group into a seating plan. _

_He was placed next to a smaller boy, with dark hair and dark eyes. Alfred had had some other lesson with the kid, and he was quiet, barely saying anything. _

_He didn't know how well sitting next to him would work. _

_"Hey," he said, sliding into the chair next to him. "I'm Alfred F. Jones. The "F" stands for "HERO"!" _

_"Forgive me," the boy bowed his head slightly, "but I was not aware that "Hero" began with an "F"." _

_The boy spoke with the tiniest trace of an accent. _

_"It- It doesn't," he replied. _

_The boy tilted his head curiously, smiling slightly. "Then why did you just tell me that it did?" _

_"Well, I- I just- You're not American, are you?" _

_His epic subject change had completely distracted the boy, preventing any more embarrassment. _

_"No," he shook his head. "I was born in Tokyo. But I've lived here since I was very young. I barely remember Japan at all." _

_Alfred nodded in understanding. "S cool. You ever like, go to Japan?" _

_"Sometimes," the boy stated, "to visit relatives. But it's becoming to much of an issue money-wise." _

_"I have family who live in...in that other place...you know, it's like America but they all speak French..." _

_"Oh, you mean Canada," nodded the Japanese boy. _

_"Yeah, that;s it, Canadia! I have family who live there, and we have to go visit them for Christmas an stuff. My brother used to live there, and he;s really strange and celebrates Thanksgiving on a different day and stuff."_

_He nodded as though he understood, what Alfred was babbling on about, but it was clear he didn't. _

_"Anyway," Alfred looked him up and down. "What's your name?" _

_Smiling, the boy said, "Honda Kiku." _

"Ciao Alfred!"

Alfred turned to wave to Feliciano, who was smiling, completely oblivious, as was normal.

Then he remembered what Ludwig had told him earlier, and felt the urge to vomit.

"Hey Feli," he replied cheerfully, swallowing his horror at the future that awaited the Italian. "How are you?"

"Ve~ I'm great thanks!" His hand rested safely inside Ludwig, whose calm yet frantic gaze old Alfred not to give anything about the boys destiny away. "How are you?"

Nodding, Alfred said, "I'm cool. Is Kiku around?"

Feliciano took a moment to think. "He was here, wasn't he Ludwig?"

The German nodded. "I believe he was dragged away by Yao and Mei. Why?"

"I need to speak with him. A- About our Maths homework."

"I'll help you find him!" smiled Feliciano. "Ludwig wanted to go look for his brother anyway."

"Ja, I did," muttered Ludwig as Feliciano removed his hand from his and skipped merrily over to Alfred.

Feliciano tugged on his arm. "Ve~ Alfred, he's this way."

He called, "Ciao Ludwig! Ti amo!" at the boy behind him as he pulled Alfred away.

Sure enough, the boys found Kiku with a two other boys, both with fairly long dark hair, which one had tied in a ponytail, and a girl with very long dark hair.

"Kiku, dude, I need to talk to you!"

"One second please, Al-kun, I'm busy," was the reply.

"Look," Alfred looked from Mei to Yao, "I'm sure these guys can spare you for like, two secs. 'Cuz that's how long I need you for!"

Realising the American wasn't going to give up, Kiku sighed. "Excuse me for one moment," he said. Yao scowled slightly, but no comment was passed.

"Al-kun, may I ask what is so important that-"

Once again, the boys words were drowned out by Alfred's hug.

His eyes grew wide.

"Al-kun," he whispered, horrified, "you have popped my personal bubble!"

"I don't care! Screw your personal bubble! This could be my last chance to see you! Ever!"

Kiku opened his mouth to ask what he meant by this, but was cut off by Alfred's, "Thanks for being my friend Kiku. Oh, and thanks for letting me copy four years' worth of Maths!"

He smiled. "I didn't really have a choice Al-kun. Now, would you please let go-"

"Oh, totally."

Feliciano looked rather upset that he hadn't gotten a hug as well. Alfred told him that he'd get plenty of them from Ludwig.

That cheered him up.

The bell rang.

Alfred scowled. But the thought of his next lesson cheered him slightly.

There was one last person he needed to say goodbye too.

...

He was in English again.

It was hard to believe that the last time he'd been in English, just over a day ago, he hadn't been aware any of this was happening.

He had gotten there before Arthur. There was only a handful of people in the room. He threw his bag on his desk and started removing that which he needed from it.

Elizaveta entered with Roderich. She looked at him curiously, before taking a seat at the desk in front of him. She leaned back and asked, "What was that about? At lunch? With Toris?"

Alfred shrugged. "It was nothing."

She nodded. "It was weird."

"I guess."

Her lips parted, but she was distracted from whatever she was going to say by the angry albino who slammed his bag next to her.

"Mein Gott, Gilbert, what happened to you?" asked Roderich.

As he could only see the back of Gilbert's head, Alfred had no idea to what the Austrian was referring too.

"Shut your unsightly unawesome face priss!" Gilbert yelled at him.

"Gil! He was only asking-"

"I don't care what the fuck he was asking Elizaveta! I'm not answering!"

Alfred wondered what had altered Gilbert's mood so dramatically. He had been fine when he'd spoken with him.

The next student to enter the room happened to be Lovino Vargas.

And he burst out laughing.

"Holy fuck!" he yelled joyously. "What the fuck happened to your face?"

Gilbert growled. "Shut the fuck up Lovino!"

The Italian continued to laugh. Gilbert chewed the inside of his mouth.

"Why don't you take a picture of the awesome me!" he screamed. "It'll last longer!"

To his horror, Lovino removed his phone from his pocket, and actually took a picture.

Several pictures.

"I'll take that Vargas," said the teacher, strolling briskly into the room, and removing Lovino's phone from his hand. He then froze. "Good God Gilbert," he stared at the boy. "What the hell happened? Are you alright?"

"I'm awesome!" He dismissed the comment with a wave of his hand.

"Have you been to see the nurse?" asked the teacher.

"Her? What does that bitch know-"

"Gilbert! Language like that will not be tolerated!"

"Sorry sir," he mumbled, looking down.

The teacher "humph"-ed, at turned to face his register.

Alfred glanced worried at the empty seat beside him.

"Late Kirkland?" he heard the teacher say in a light, amused manner.

"Sorry sir," said Arthur, taking his seat. "It won't happen again."

He smiled. "Your sister used to say that. She never showed up to my lessons on time."

Arthur didn't reply, but his cheeks began to heat up.

Sighing, the teacher said, "Any particular reason you were late, Arthur?"

"I, um, had to go Student Welfare."

He shook his head. "Your brother didn't get himself beaten up again, did he?"

Arthur nodded.

"Was that the fight you were in Gilbert?" the teacher turned his attention to the scowling boy in front of Alfred.

"I didn't get beaten up! I'm too awesome for that!"

The teacher turned his back on the class and began the register.

From the other seat beside Arthur, Alfred heard Kiku ask, "How badly was Rhys beaten this time?"

"Oh, it wasn't Rhys," Arthur ran a hand though his hair. "It was Scott. He got into some fight "protecting his girlfriends honour" or something."

It surprised Alfred that Kiku not only knew the names of Arthur's brothers, who he himself had only just met, but he also knew them well enough to assume which one it was that had been beaten up.

But then, he supposed the two had known each other longer than they'd known him.

That again surprised him. He'd only known both of these boys for four and a bit years, and yet he felt like he'd known them all his life.

He was torn from his thoughts by, "JONES! Are you here or not?"

"Oh, I'm here dude! he called in response. "I mean, yes sir!"

The teacher shook his head, sighing.

The lesson progressed slowly. Alfred listened to the lecture, pretending to take notes, all the while waiting for the teacher to finally shut up so he could talk to Arthur.

He willed the teacher to shut up with every fibre of his being.

And when he finally finished, he turned to Arthur and said, "I'm sorry."

"For what?" asked the Brit, skimming the notes he;d taken over the past few days, underlining key features, crossing out some, highlighting overs.

"For all this Reversal shit!"

Arthur looked up at him. "It's not your fault Alfred. It's destiny."

"Yeah, well, I'm sorry that I'm making you fight my destiny."

He shrugged, "You'd do the same for me."

"I would."

The two fell into silence.

"Thanks," Alfred said.

"You're welcome."

Alfred wanted to say more, but he thinking about it made him feel sick.

He turned his page and started to scribble.

_"Alfred, are you not even the tiniest bit nervous?" _

_"Dude, what is there to be scared of. It's just school!" _

_Mattie fidgeted. "Yeah, but-" _

_"I promise I'll protect you from any and every thing you need protecting from." _

_"You will?" _

_"Why do you sound so surprised? I'm the hero! it's what I do!" _

_The two had somehow managed to locate the room that would be their home room for the next five years. There were only a few other students there. Two of them, Alfred knew. The other four he didn't. _

_At least two of them didn't look like they were there for their first day, unless they were unnaturally tall. But Alfred had never seen an eleven-old-girl who looked as mature as the one stood outside the door to his home room._

_He couldn't hear what they were saying, but the taller of the three boys was definitely swearing. A lot. _

_One of them attacked the other with a hug. He was quickly dragged away by the other boy, the one who swore. He yelled, "Bye Artie! Enjoy your first day! Come find me if you need anything!" as he was. The girl quickly took his place hugging the smaller boy, before she too left, calling out pretty much the same thing._

_This left the shortest boy. He was scowling. His arms were folded. _

_His eyes were a green Alfred had never seen before, his eyebrows bushy. _

_"What the hell are you staring at, wanker?" he yelled at Alfred. _

_"Dude..." he said. "Your accent!" _

_He sighed, angrily. "What of it?" _

_"It's totally British!" he chirped. "You're totally British!" _

_He rolled his eyes. "I'm aware of the fact, but thank you very much for pointing it out to me." _

_Mattie had begun talking to Toris, who had been trying to avoid making eye contact with Ivan. _

_"Dude, your welcome," smiled Alfred. _

_"I was being sarcastic!" _

_"You can be whatever you want with that accent! It's adorable!" _

_"It's not bleeding adorable! It's extremely pissed off that it's in this country of morons talking to you!" _

_Alfred chuckled. "It's funny too. You sound posh as shit!" _

_Under his breath, Mattie whispered, "Shit isn't really all that posh, Al." _

_The British boys scowl deepened, his expression darkening. "Please stop talking to me." _

_"Why the hell would I do that?" _

_Alfred's question went unanswered, as the boys attention was drawn to another boy he clearly knew. _

_"Way to go, Al," said Mattie. "We haven't even had a single lesson, and you've already made an enemy." _

_"What?" he asked, looking at his brother, confused. "I haven't made an enemy." _

_Mattie shook his head. "What do you call that boy then?"_

_He shrugged. _

_He knew Mattie was wrong. He had not made an enemy out of the British dude. _

_In fact, he was sure he had done the exact opposite._

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><p><strong>Extended an: **

I think this chapter was literally just "Let's see how many random characters and backstories I can shove into a chapter!"

Oh well. At least we had school that seemed realistic. I mean, there was a teacher for once. And he yelled at students. So yeah.

I totally lied. I think I may be able to drag the ending of this out to last another two chapters. But that is for real this time. Two more chapters and it ends! I hope.

Thank you all for reading and reviewing! You guys are the best!

Okay, so in this chapter we had a little bit of interaction between Angels, which is something I've wanted to do for a while. We also had some nice flashbacks into America's mind, as opposed to merely Canada's flashback, which I normally begin the story with. But he didn't have a flashback today. Nu-huh. It was totally what was actually happening at that moment.

Next chapter will be a flashback. I know exactly what the flashback for the next two chapters will be, and then I can stop worrying, because this story will be over.

So, I like to think this chapter was a success, seeing as how I managed to fit Poland and Romano into it, which may have been what I had in mind when I started it.

Next time I see you, we'll be one away from the end! Aren't you guys excited?


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note:**

First; THIS STORY HAS BLOWN MY MIND! OVER A THOUSAND HITS? YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST!

Thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, and favourited. I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations. God knows I've made you all wait long enough for it.

Sorry for the delay, but we;ve arrive in the middle of Exam Season. I had one last week, I've got two this week, and then another two the week after, although they like to pretend they're not exams, but they totally are. However, seeing as this should only have one chapter left, it shouldn't take too long to write/upload it.

Allergy Advice: Warning, chapter may contain traces of USUK  
>Recipe: Cannot guarantee yaoi free<br>Factory: Added swearing, OOC-ness, paranormal shit, more paranormal shit, mindless acceptance of paranormal shit, confusing plot-line-that-really-sucks, violence, random shit that isn't really relevant to the plot line, OTT Prussia, CHARACTER DEATH, bad spelling and grammar.

Don't own Hetalia, don't own anything else you may find references to in this chapter.

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><p>He was not going to stand back and let his brother die.<p>

The idiot clearly hadn't looked before crossing the road. If he had, he would have noticed the God-knows-how-many-tonnes lorry that was speeding towards him.

It was going to hit him.

He was not going to stand back and let his brother die.

He may never have done anything eventful, worthwhile or noticable in his life, but he was not going to stand back and let his brother die.

And so he ran.

Running had never been something he was any good at (not that he was any good at anything, he thought bitterly), but speed came from his desperation to save his brother. Along with speed came a newfound agility. He weaved his way through a crowd of students, all dressed in the same uniform, and yelled his brother's name.

It seemed like his efforts were going to be in vain. He wasn't gonna make it. His brother was going to die. He was going to lose his brother.

He'd lost everything; every race he'd ever ran, every competition he'd ever entered, but that paled in comparision to human life. This was one thing he refused to lose.

He pushed his brother sharply to the side. He had just enough time to watch him tumble to the ground before his world went dark in a blaze of pain.

...

He couldn't believe he was actually going to do this.

He looked around the spotless room and felt a pang of regret. And he hadn't even started yet.

But he pushed all those thoughts aside. He was not a cautious big brother, he was a hero on a mission. This was just part of his mission.

Okay... something precious to his brother. Something he treasured. Something he valued.

He had no idea what he was looking for, let alone where he was going to find it.

He decided to start with the wardrobe.

He ripped clothes from their hangers, shoving his hands inside their pockets before discarding them with a swift throw over his shoulder. Sometimes his efforts were rewarded with a sweet wrapper, a crumpled library ticket, a faded receipt or some loose change, but he found nothing of any real value.

He tried the drawers under the wardrobe, chucking their contents over the floor. He went through socks, ripping them from from their twin just as he had been ripped from Mattie, in an attempt to find something of value stored inside them.

He found nothing.

One drawer was full of Mattie's old school books, class photos, other memorabilia. Alfred hadn't kept any records of his time at school. It struck him then that, were he to reverse the Reversal, and grow old, and go on to have children, they wouldn't be able to look back on what he'd been like at their age.

He was hit by a sudden urge to read through them.

He sternly told himself no. He had a job to do.

And yet he still found himself emptying the drawer of its contents, and hugging the considerably large pile of books and paper to his chest. He rose from the kneeling position he'd adopted, and made his way to Mattie's desk, treading on his clothes as he did. He set the pile down upon Mattie's discarded, open notebook, settled into the chair, and began to read, pausing every now and again to check his watch.

He found that a lot of his brothers' work went unacknowledged, but he felt it was of a higher quality than his own. He slowly made his way through Mattie's life in reverse, starting with the books from the last school year, reading about progress he knew his he had now made his reports, watching him become younger and younger in his photos.

It was the last place he expected to find what he was looking for.

It was a small yellow exercise book. It had Mattie's name, class, and the name of the subject written upon it. Alfred had one that was almost identical. He opened the book, remembering doing some of the topics listed in it.

The book itself was doing pretty well, considering it was roughly six years old.

He turned the page, and felt his heart stop.

The title of the piece was "My Favourite Thing."

He vaguely remembered writing this. They had been learning about adjectives, and their teacher had set them this to see how creative they could be. But Alfred cared not for how creative his brothers' writing was; he just needed his favourite thing. Granted, it may be a few years out of date, but it would still work, right?

He read the first line, and almost choked.

_"My favourite thing is my big brother."_

He blinked. He must have read it wrong.

He tried again. It still read the same words.

He scanned through the rest of the text. Mattie went on to mention that he also loved his parents and his bear, but his loved his brother most.

Alfred struggled to believe that. It wasn't like he'd ever been a caring older brother, who looked out for Mattie. Sure, he'd been Mattie's hero, but he was everyone's hero, so that didn't really count.

And yet, at one point, his brother had valued him enough to write the piece before him.

He realised that his brother had never stopped caring for him like that. He was willing to die for him.

He was pulled from his thoughts by his mother's yell of, "Al, dinner!"

It made him jump. "Coming, mom!" he called back from her.

He dived under Mattie's bed, and grabbed the stuffed bear that he'd thrown under there the first time he'd woken up in Mattie's room. He'd been holding it. And heroes do not sleep with teddy bears.

He shut Mattie's door behind him, so he didn't have to deal with a) the mess, and b) his parents complaining about the mess. He quickly lobbed the bear into his room, then ran downstairs.

...

Alfred told his parents he was tired, and wanted an early night. His mother kept asking if he was sure he was okay. He always assured her that he was.

But he wasn't.

He made sure he told them both that he loved them, which earned him more, "Alfred honey, you sure you're alright?"'s.

He tried to act as normal as possible. He didn't want his parents to worry. His parents weren't allowed to know.

If all failed, it would be them who had to deal with the loss of both of their sons; Mattie's body would be gone, as would Alfred's spirit.

He shoved his bomber jacket on over his t-shirt. He carefully and expertly placed pillows under his quilt in such a fashion that it looked as though he was sleeping there. He put Mattie's bear into a rucksack, along with some clothes he'd rescued from Mattie's room, because he had no idea how this Reversal shit was gonna go down, and was pretty sure that if Mattie suddenly woke up, he would like his own clothes. He hastily tied his shoelaces, took one final glance around the room he'd called his for years, and slid the window open.

There happened to be a very continently placed tree outside his window. He'd been taking advantage of this, and the fact the window faced the back of the house, for the last seven or so years.

He climbed the short distance between his window and the tree, rucksack slung over his shoulder. He closed the window, then expertly began his descent down the tree.

Now that he knew where Arthur lived, he had hoped he'd be able to get their without getting lost or sidetracked. Unfortunately, this wasn't the case. He found himself turning up outside his door a full half-hour after it had been decided that he would.

He knocked. Once again, the door was answered by Scott. He was frowning. There were scratches up and down his arms, and a particularly large gash on his cheek. He also had a black eye. In one hand, he held a lit cigarette. He looked at Alfred, unimpressed. It took him a while to remember that Arthur had said his brother had been beaten up.

Taking a drag of his cigarette, Scott turned and yelled, "Wank-face! Your boyfriends here!"

Alfred looked down, trying not to inhale any of the vile fumes.

It took a while for Arthur to actually appear. He grabbed a jacket from the floor, and shrugged it on. This was followed by his scarf, which he wrapped around his neck.

"Hey!" Patrick yelled from somewhere, "Where the hell do you think you're going?"

"Out," sighed Arthur.

"At half-past eight on a school night? I highly doubt it!"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Well, thanks for your opinion. I'll be home before mum."

And he left.

"Sorry I'm late-" began Alfred.

"Whatever," Arthur interrupted. "We just need to get there before nine."

The two walked in uncomfortable silence. Arthur seemed to be in an especially worse mood than normal.

"Artie," Alfred finally said, "are you okay?"

"I'm perfectly fine!" was the snapped reply. "Why the fuck wouldn't I be?"

"I dunno...you just seem upset about something."

Arthur's scowl softened slightly. "I- Let's just get this over and done with."

...

Arriving just after nine, the two were told they had half an hour until visitors hour ended. Not that either of them really cared. They weren't leaving after visitors hour.

There was nothing different about Mattie's room. It was the same as it had been yesterday. Apart from the brothers stood away from where Mattie and his machinery lay. They appeared to be arguing over something, one speaking in low, threatening tones, the other loud, emphasising his point with wild hand flares.

Alfred couldn't bring himself to look at his brother. The steady beep told him he was still alive. Currently, he trusted his ears more than his eyes.

If he looked at Matthew, every inch of his body would scream, "HE'S YOUR BROTHER! PROTECT HIM!"

This would be the only time he wouldn't be able to protect his brother.

His eyes would tell him that Mattie was dead, but his ears kept assuring him he was alive. He chose his ears over his eyes, and turned to face the Angels, who had just noticed his arrival.

"You kept the awesome me waiting," snarled Gilbert. "You were meant to be here at least a minute ago."

Arthur folded his arms and scowled. Alfred merely shrugged.

"Did you bring that which was requested?" asked Ludwig, his face an emotionless mask.

He was met with two nods, and the mask broke. He became confused.

"What were you asked to bring?" he directed his question at Alfred.

"Gilbert told me to bring something that was special to Mattie..."

His sentence was drowned out by Gilbert's trademark laugh.

"You didn't need to bring anything!" he chuckled. "That was just for future blackmailing opportunities!"

Alfred bit his lip. He wasn't impressed. And by the looks of things, neither were Arthur and Ludwig.

Ludwig sternly spoke a few words of German to his brother, who snapped out of his state of non-stop laughter, and stood to attention.

"What happens now?" the American asked, eyes slightly narrowed with both his anger, and the strain of his attempt to prevent himself from crying.

"We wait," sighed Ludwig, turning to face the window. "The walls between our world and yours are weakest at midnight and midday-"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "How original," he muttered.

He received a glare from Gilbert for talking over Ludwig, but since the taller German had his back to them, he continued, oblivious to the sarcastic comment.

"We have an hour timeslot to reverse the Reversal: half-eleven to half-twelve. Every second we run over is about three percent off of our chances of success."

Alfred didn't like the factual way he stated that. "What's the percent of success currently standing at?"

He was met with a shrug. "I'd wager something close to sixty-three percent."

"Sixty-three? But- But that's barely over fifty?"

"Alfred," Ludwig turned to face the frantic blonde, "this is a complicated procedure. There's only so much you and I can do! The rest of it is up to your brother!"

"Up to my brother?" Alfred frowned. "What do you mean? How is Mattie gonna do anything?"

"Al, maybe we should focus on the "what" opposed to the "why"," said Arthur, in attempt to calm Alfred down.

Arthur had said that so many times before; It doesn't matter why something happened, the important thing was it did happen. Alfred nodded.

"So what are we going to actually have to do?" he asked.

His blue eyes locked with a deep red pair. Gilbert chuckled. "You have to kill me."

"You said that earlier! How the hell is it gunna benefit my brother?"

"Well, you see, because I'm so awesome, your brother has to drink my blood-"

"Yuck!" Alfred found himself yelling. "That's disgusting!"

"You're- You're not serious?" Arthur recoiled. "That can't be the antidote to this..."

"I'm afraid you'll find it is," Ludwig turned back to face them. "That's how it works. Alfred slits Gilbert's throat, Matthew drinks his blood, the Reversal ends."

"But it's like... It's like fucking cannibalism!" cried Alfred, throwing his arms up to demonstrate his frustration.

"Not really. I think you're forgetting that I'm an awesome Angel with awesome powers and your brother's a guy from some place I can't remember the name of," Gilbert folded his arms, scowling.

"How does that make it any less cannibalistic?"

Gilbert shrugged. "I dunno. But I'm awesome; your argument is invalid."

"YEAH, WELL I'M THE MOTHER FUCKING HERO! YOUR FACE IS INVALID!"

Holding back a chuckle, Gilbert asked innocently, "You fuck mothers? Not awesome, Alfred. Not very heroic either."

"I- You- That's not what I meant!" yelled Alfred, flailing his arms around.

There was an angry cough from Ludwig. "Would you two cease?"

"I agree," nodded Arthur, a hand raised to his temple, "your loud tones and overwelming stupidity is giving me a headache."

Alfred allowed his mouth to hang open for a second. "Dude, I'm the hero! I'm not allowed to be stupid!"

"Ja, and I'm too awesome to be stupid!" snarled Gilbert. "It must be Alfred's face that's giving you a headache. God knows it's ugly enough."

Taken aback, Alfred yelled, "Not true! Artie likes my face!"

When his only reply from the Brit was an exasperated sigh, he turned to him for confirmation. "You- You do like my face, don't you Artie?"

Again, the reply he received was not the one he wanted.

"I'd like it a hell of a lot more if you two would stop arguing!" Arthur snapped.

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "How the hell else am I supposed to entertain myself for two-and-a-half hours?"

The prospect of listening to Gilbert and Alfred bicker for two-and-a-half hours caused Ludwig's very small wick, of which his was already at the end of, to run out.

He began yelling at Gilbert.

In German.

Which made it worse for Gilbert, who began to blush furiously before retorting, awkward for Arthur, seeing how he had no clue what was going on, and more amusing to Alfred, who had always felt that German was a ridiculous language any way, full of funny words that sent him into fits of giggles by just being uttered.

"Hey," started Alfred, interrupting the argument. "I just realised, if we're gunna be here for like, three hous, what happens if someone sees us?"

Gilbert pushed Ludwig, who was gripping the front of his shirt, away from him. Dusting himself off, he said, "Don' worry about that. The awesome me happens to have awesome powers that will totally prevent us from getting caught and thrown out!"

"Why do I doubt that?" sighed Arthur.

"'Cuz you don't know shit about awesome, that's why!" snarled Gilbert. "I have awesome powers and I will be awesome and you will appreciate my awesomeness!"

Arthur turned away, making his way towards a spare chair in the corner of the room. "Whatever."

Ludwig spent the next hour or so drilling the plan into their heads; at about half-eleven, Alfred would receive the kinfe Arthur had somehow obtained, and use it to "kill" Gilbert. He would then have to act quickly, and use some stupid magic cup thing that Arthur had also mysteriously obtained, gather Gilbert's blood, and feed it to Mattie.

He disliked this plan very much.

That was where his part ended. Ludwig and Arthur had stuff to do after it, but he didn't. He just had to pray that the Reversal had been reversed, and that Arthur was able to cast whatever spell he was supposed to.

If they didn't work, then his life would end in one of two ways; he would die, or he would be sent to prison for murder.

Neither sounded particularly appealing.

Ludwig had stressed how important it was that Alfred did not, under any circumstances, fall asleep. He said, in his gruff, low voice, "Ven you are ashleep, ze vallz between your vorld und ourz are at zhere veakest. If you fall ascheelp, zen zere is no vay ve can reverse the Reversal."

Okay, maybe he over-emphasised his accent a tiny bit. But that was the gist of what he said.

He had taken the seat his mother had occupied yesterday, and reached for his brothers hand. He expected it to be cold, but was surprised by it's lukewarm temperature.

"I'm sorry," he found himself whispering. "I- I thought I was meant to be the hero, but that wasn't what destiny had in store."

He felt his grip tighten. "I'm trying Mattie," he reassured someone who didn't ask for reassurance. "I swear I am! I'm going to save you Mattie! I'm going to be your hero whether fate likes it or not!"

He didn't know how long he was sat there for, just holding Mattie's hand, whispering promises of saviour to him, telling him secrets he'd kept from him for fifteen years, reminding him of the games they used to play as children. He lost himself to his words.

He lost himself to his memories.

And he was so, so tired.

He wanted this to be over.

But most of all, he wanted to sleep.

Every now and again, he would feel his eyelids start to close. He'd see double, and blink himself back to his senses.

If he fell asleep, then everything he'd been working for for the past...the past two days? It felt longer than that. It felt like he'd been fighting some never-ending war against himself, neither winning nor losing, because he was both sides of the battlefield.

If he fell asleep, then that battle was lost.

Neither part of him would win, because all of him would be lost.

He would be dead.

He didn't know if he was scared of dying. He knew he didn't want to die, but he didn't think death frightened him.

At least, death didn't frighten him half as much as life did.

As he sat there, pondering his very existence, the others discussing magic shit he wouldn't be involved in, Alfred realised something about himself: He was more scared of life than death.

In life, there was always a consequence. He was always slightly worried about something, and he was always speeding closer to death. But surely, death would be constant?

His morbid thoughts were depressing him. Now it sounded like he wanted to die. Which he most certainly did not.

Dying was not on his to-do list.

"What are you kids doing in here?"

The four of them turned. A nurse stood at the door of Mattie's room.

"Visiting hours are over. You should get home to your parents," she said, smiling.

"Gilbert, now would be a good time for these "awesome powers" you keep going on about," muttered Alfred, still clinging to Mattie's unresponsive hand.

Gilbert nodded. He raised his hand, extended two fingers, and swept it from his left to his right in an arc. "These are not the droids you're looking for."

Arthur slapped his palm against his forehead. "That was it? That was your amazing power?" he cried.

"Now now Artie, I never said my powers were amazing," smiled Gilbert. "I said they were awesome!"

The woman at the door nodded, turned and left.

"Wait," Alfred rose from his seat, "did she leave because you made her, or did she leave to report us?"

Gilbert shrugged. "I wanna say it's because the awesome me made her, but there's a chance that that's a lie."

Alfred collapsed back into his chair. "This is bad. This is so bad."

Sighing, Ludwig said, "It's fine. We can deal with her if she, or anyone else returns."

Arthur was still trying to recover from "these are not the droids you're looking for".

The four entered an uncomfortable state of almost-silence. The atmosphere was tense. They waited for the woman to return.

Five minutes passed. Then ten. Then twenty.

No one entered the room.

"Well, that settle's it!" Gilbert stretched his hands above his head."My power's are awesome, I'm right, and I'm awesome. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be taking my nap now."

"Gilbert, you can't go to sleep!" yelled Alfred.

"Shut up! The awesome me can sleep if I want to!"

"No no no!" Alfred shook his head. "'Cuz if you fall asleep then we can't reverse the Reversal!"

"Git, that's if you fall asleep," muttered Arthur angrily. "Were you listening to anything that wanker was going on about earlier?"

"Um," the American bit his lip. "I was!"

Sighing, Ludwig turned to his brother, who was lying on the floor, curled up like a cat. "Get up," he said sternly.

"No," Gilbert curled himself tighter. "Don't want to."

Crouching down on the floor, Ludwig whispered something into his brother's ear. Red eyes flew open. He jumped up, fearful.

"We might as well start," he said, turning to the others. He met frightened nods.

Alfred had mixed feelings about effectively killing Gilbert. On the one side, the dude was seriously annoying and thought he was more awesome than him, which was impossible, seeing as how he was the hero and everything. But it was still murder. Or assisted suicide, seeing how he wanted to die.

He shook his head. The dude was immortal. He wasn't really killing him.

He didn't want to have to do this. And yet he was willing to do anything to save himself and his brother.

"Wait a sec, let me get comfortable," smiled Gilbert, laying himself back down on the floor, slightly irritated that he'd been scolded for previously lying down.

"I, um..." stuttered Alfred. "I-"

"Dude, if you're worried about hurting me, don't. You seriously think this is the first time I've "died"?" he chuckled.

"You- You mean this sort of thing has happened to you often?" Alfred asked, confused.

he was met with a nod. "Got blown up a few times in World War Two, hacked to pieces by a Viking Army this one time...Oh, I was fed to lions in Ancient Rome..." His thoughts trailed off. "Good times," he reminisced.

Alfred was unsure how to respond to that. "You, um, certainly had your fair share of historical deaths..." he said, gulping.

He shrugged. "Know a girl who got her organs cut out by Jack the Ripper."

"Oh, really?" he responded politely, trying to mask his disgust.

"Yeah. She said she actually kind of enjoyed it," he shook his head. "Fucked up unawesome bitch, that girl."

Alfred gripped the handle of the knife tighter. "She...sounds it."

Gilbert closed his eyes. "Go on then. The awesome me is totally ready!"

He raised the knife, and placed it to the albino's neck.

He bit his lip, and closed his eyes.

The noise that the knife made as it slit Gilbert's throat made him feel sick. He kept his eyes closed, and would;ve probably kept slicing, were it not for the hand he felt grip his. His arm was raised, the knife was prised from his shaking hand, and he was passed some fancy cup of some sort.

He rose, trying to avoid looking towards Gilbert.

He turned towards his brother.

It was weird; the fear and adrenaline from what he'd just done, and what he was about to do, should be keeping him awake.

But he'd never felt so tired in his entire life.

Behind him, he heard scratching noises, and whispering. He took it to mean that Arthur had started whatever magic shit he needed to do.

He had never felt sicker or tireder than he felt at that precise moment.

Every step felt like a small marathon. Every blink felt like lifting weights.

He sat down beside his brother, and raised the cup-thing to his lips.

"C'mon Mattie," he whispered. "I know you're like, dead, but you have to drink this!"

The effort required to hold the glass-cup-whatever there, shouldn't have been as much as it was. He had one hand under Mattie's head, and was using it to lift him up, closer to the glass-cup-whatever, similar to how he'd seen mothers feed young kids.

He was so very, very tired.

His stomach churned at the smell of blood. He couldn't believe what he was doing.

It was almost as though he was dreaming.

There was an almighty crash.

He turned sharply towards the source of the noise, spilling Gilbert's blood everywhere. He quickly moved the glass-cup-whatever so as not to spill any more.

Natalia stood in the open door, her face a mask of fury.

"I've changed my mind," she said coldly, her eyes locked on Ludwig's. "You and your brother cannot be allowed to help the bastard and his brother!"

"Natalia, it's too late," Ludwig shook his head. "You can't stop it."

"Oh, can't I?" She cocked a slender eyebrow.

Ludwig shook his head.

"I beg to differ." She stepped casually over Gilbert's lifeless body, ignoring the circle that had been carefully drawn around it. To Arthur's horror, she bent down and rubbed part of it away.

"What are you doing?" he cried.

"Just fucking up this bastard's life as much as he's fucking up my brothers!" she snarled.

Alfred rose from where he was sat. "Fuck off!" he yelled. "Stay away from my brother!"

Her face softened for a second. Her mask became one he'd never seen her where before.

"I understand your longing to protect your brother," she mumbled, "but can't you see the best way to protect him is by letting this happen?"

"I- What?" Her tone shocked him. He'd never seen her like this before.

"You're being selfish!" she screamed. "You're trying to convince yourself it's your brother you're saving, but it's not! It's yourself!"

Alfred had never thought about that before.

"I- I'm saving both of us!" he replied, fists clenched.

She smiled menacingly. "You might've convinced yourself of that, but somewhere inside, you know it's a lie."

He let her words wash over him, and absorbed them like a sponge.

"Mattie wouldn't want me to let the Reversal happen; he'd want me to keep fighting it."

Shaking her head, Natalia replied, "Sometimes, protecting those we love means doing things they don't agree with."

He finally noticed the knife she held behind her back.

"N-Natalia? W-what are you doing here?"

Her gaze grew cold. "I told you," she smiled, "I'm here to stop this."

"You're-" he gulped. "You're not gunna-"

"I just want to talk with you," she said, stepping closer to him. "But I'm prepared to do more than that to make you see reason."

He felt himself freeze with fear.

"Think about what you're doing-" he began.

"No, you think Jones," she cut him off. "Think about how tired you are. Think about how nice it would be to fall asleep."

"That...would be nice," he mused.

"No!" he heard Arthur yell. "Don't you bloody well fall asleep! Not now, wanker!"

But he was so tired...

He forced himself awake, looked Natalia in the eye and yelled, "For the final time, fuck off you twisted, messed up bitch!"

She shook her head. "Wrong answer Jones."

He felt a sharp pain somewhere. His vision started to blur.

He heard yells and a crashing sound.

He registered that there was some form of earthquake going occurring.

The roof was collapsing.

And he was so, so tired.

He felt his eyes shut.

He felt himself fall asleep.

* * *

><p><strong>Extended an: **

So I hope you guys enjoyed that! It was hell to write. Trying to recover from writers' block. Sorry if it's evident in this chapter.

Thank you all for following this story. It really means a lot to me.

Just wanna quickly shout out to three friends of mine, who's birthdays occurred recently: HAPPY BIRTHDAY YOU GUYS! I know you'll never read it, but still, I felt I should at least make the effort to type it.

Okay, so I believe this chapter was mainly dialogue, but it might not have been. There was some action in there...

THIS IS THE LONGEST CHAPTER I'VE SUBMITTED SO FAR!

Next chapter probably won't be so long.

Did you guys recognise the flashback? It's the same as the first one. Because when you're this close to the end, you have to remember the beginning.

Whenever I've killed a character previous to this, I've not really recorded their death, which is why Prussia's death is so sucky. I apologise. Still, I hope it worked all the same.

"These are not the droids you're looking for"...How many of you recognised/were expecting THAT to somehow appear here? Hopefully not a lot.

Reviews are appreciated and loved.

I'll see you all next time for the epic conclusion...


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: **

Look at this! THIS IS THE LAST CHAPTER! THE ONE I'VE BEEN PROMISING YOU GUYS FOR LIKE, ALL OF TIME! AND I HAVE FINALLY UPLOADED IT! ASDFJKHJKHGNS!

Keyboard mashing aside, if you are reading this, it means you have stuck with both me and this story, which means a hell of a lot to me.

You guys should know the drill by now; I don't own Hetalia, there will be swearing and like, yaoi references, ect. Also, random pitchfork-related death.

Yeah. I read through this chapter and wondered what the actual fuck (oh, look, swearing. I warned you) I had been on when I wrote half of it. But I didn't change it. Odd.

* * *

><p>He was unsure of the last time he had felt both so angry and so heartbroken.<p>

"You can't be serious, Artie?" he yelled.

The Brit turned to face him, green eyes blazing. "I'm deadly serious, tosspot! And don't call me Artie!"

The students who would usually be pushing past him in order to leave were slowing down. At least, the ones in his year were; the others couldn't care less. But those who knew he and Arthur were stopping with the intention of watching the fight.

Arthur suddenly turned and screeched at Francis. He didn't completely catch the entire thing, but he heard the words "not lovers", and felt a new surge of flame erupt from his heart.

"What do you mean, we're not lovers?"

"Exactly what it sounded like Jones!" Arthur increased his pace in an attempt to get away from him. "Or are you too stupid to understand even the most basic of English?"

He bit his lip. He hated being called stupid.

He caught up with Arthur, and grabbed his wrist. "Take that back!"

His grip on the shorter boys wrist was rather tight. Arthur pulled his arm out from his grip, and he saw the red marks he'd left there.

"Touch me again," Arthur snarled, "and I will grant you a swift entrance to Hell!"

He turned on his heel and stormed across the road.

"What you gunna do?" he called to him. "Set your junkie brother on me?"

His response was two raised fingers. From the other side of the road, Arthur shouted, "Don't talk about Scott like that, wanker! The bastard might have issues, but you fucking well can't go yelling them around the street!"

"Why? It's not like there's a person alive who doesn't know he's an addict!"

Arthur ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah Jones, and there's not a person alive who doesn't know you're just an arrogant sod who can barely spell his own name!"

There he went, calling him stupid again. Didn't that idiot know how much having his intelligence insulted hurt him?

Of course he did. That's why he was doing it.

He stepped into the road.

He tried to think of a comeback, something, anything, to say to the British bastard before he thought he'd won.

He opened his mouth to yell, but felt himself slam into the ground.

He heard the screech of powerful brakes, and several screams.

His own name was shouted, but in his concussed state, he had now idea who by.

He wondered if a car had hit someone.

It sounded as though one had.

He wondered if it had hit him. He was lying in the middle of the road.

He pushed himself up, feeling sick and dizzy as a result. Student's were crowding onto the road.

His glasses had skidded to his side, and he grabbed for them, his heart gripped with fear.

From what he could see, it wasn't him who'd been hit by the truck, but it was someone only too familiar.

He shoved his glasses on, only to faint at the sight of his brother's broken body, lying in a position not humanly possible.

His fell back, his head colliding with the road again.

It should have been him.

...

He blinked himself awake.

He winced at the light.

He shuddered in pain.

He felt like he hadn't been able to do these things in so long.

He saw his brother, lying just the tiniest fraction away from him, and it all came flooding back; the accident, the Reversal, everything.

He had to squint though, because he didn't appear to be wearing his glasses.

He sat up, feeling some resistance as he did. He quickly dislodged that which was restraining him, and looked around the room.

It was like someone had let a bomb off.

He realised he couldn't feel his arm.

He felt his breathing increase.

He was terrified; far more so than he had been at any point previous to this.

There was something wet on his chin. He realised it was blood. But, for all the pain he was in, he didn't appear to be bleeding.

He called his brother's name. Speaking felt foreign to him.

He recieved no response.

He tried again, louder this time.

No response.

He realised all had failed.

The room was littered with plaster. One of the walls had exploded. He wondered how it had happened.

Someone pushed themselves out of the rubble.

"M-Mattie?" they asked, hesitantly.

Mattie...Mattie!

Mattie was his name!

"Y-Yeah," he replied.

He felt a pair of strong arms throw themselves around him, and a sobbing boy bury their face in his neck.

"I thought I'd never see you again!" they wept.

Tapping them on the back with the hand he could move, Matthew replied, "I thought the same of you, Alfred."

His brother pushed himself away, tears streaking down his dirt-stained face. "I thought I was gonna die."

"I- I thought you were too-"

He was pulled into another bone-crushing hug.

Alfred had never felt like this before. This sense of joy, of wholeness...It was the greatest feeling in the world. Sure, Mattie still looked like shit, his skin was pale and his arm was broken, but the fact that there were now two large, violet eyes looking up at him in wonder made the rest of that not matter.

He had his brother back.

He'd done it.

"Happy endings are so cliché, don't you think?"

Alfred turned towards the speaker, Mattie's hand in his.

"What do you want?" he growled protectively.

"I told you," answered Natalia, dusting herself off. "I want the same as you; to save my brother."

In a flash, her knife was back in her hand.

"Al," croaked Mattie, grabbing his arm, "what's she gunna do?"

Alfred gulped. "I really don't wanna know..."

"Jones, you have caused me enough trouble," she snarled. "I'm going to enjoy destroying you."

"Um," Alfred turned to his brother, "I think that's what she's gunna do."

Her face contorted into a smile that seemed to drip with animosity. "I think I'll do it creatively. Tell me Matthew; how would you enjoy watching me carve out your brother's heart?"

"Wow Natalia, how you gonna find that? Do you even know what a heart looks like?" Mattie asked.

Alfred looked at him, surprised. He'd never heard his brother make a comment like that before.

"Very funny," her gaze narrowed. "Maybe I should collect yours too; that way I'd have a matching pair."

Mattie found his hands pushed from Alfred's arm. He rose.

"No Natalia, you leave Mattie alone. K- Kill me if you want, but let him be."

Alfred couldn't believe what he'd just said. But a part of him had come to realise that Natalia killing him to protect Ivan was no different from him killing Gilbert to save Mattie.

Another part of him had come to realise he was more than willing to die for his brother.

He would die a thousand times if it meant Mattie would live a life free of pain.

"Al, don't," his brother yelled.

Natalia raised her knife, and beckoned Alfred closer.

He felt the cold blade press against his neck.

He closed his eyes.

"Mattie," he called to him. "I'm sorry, but this is how it's meant to be. I should've died a week ago."

His brother began to sob. "No Alfred, it's not true!"

"I'm sorry I caused you so much pain, little brother," he smiled, even through the painful grip Natalia had on the back of his head. "I promise you it'll end now."

He heard a few gasps, and then the hand holding his head grew slack.

He opened his eyes in time to watch Natalia collapse onto her knees. Three blades jutted out through her abdomen.

Mattie's eyes grew wide. "Yekaterina..."

The woman stood behind Natalia had short hair and large breasts. She appeared to have just stabbed Natalia with a pitchfork.

And yet, she was smiling.

Blood started to seep through Natalia's shirt, and her breaths became shallow.

Alfred dropped to his knees. "Are you alright?"

"Al, she just got stabbed, you really think she's gunna be alright?"

"Shut up Matthew! I'm...immortal! It's...going to take...more than my bitchy...sister to stop...me!" Natalia's face twisted in pain.

Yekaterina ran a hand through her hair. "I'm sorry Natalia," she giggled. "You got in the way of my pitchfork."

"Whore," Natalia sneered, attempting to pull the weapon out by it's shaft, which was jutting out of her back. It dislodged with a disgusting squelch Alfred swore he'd never forget.

Wincing, Natalia stood up. The wounds left by the pitchfork were bleeding heavily. She wailed something incomprehensible about her older brother, then broke into a run. It was a speed faster than someone as badly injured as she should ever be able to achieve.

And then she jumped through the gaping hole from where there had once been a wall, and fell.

Both Alfred and Matthew yelled.

"She'll be fine," smiled Yekaterina, dismissing their worry with a wave of her hand.

Alfred looked around the room for a second, before realising that the wall had exploded.

"Oh, shit, Arthur!" he cried.

The room was almost unrecognisable. While he searched through rubble, Mattie turned to Yekaterina, confused.

"I thought you weren't allowed in this world," he stated, his eyes full of curiosity.

She sighed. "I am if my ward is in direct danger."

"So then why didn't you intervene when I saved Alfred's life? Jumping in front of a truck is directly dangerous!"

She looked up at him, her gaze uncertain. "Had I prevented you from doing what you did for your brother, I would've been interfering with your destiny."

Mattie blinked uncertainly. "Wh- What?"

"This was the event that would show you you are loved, unlike you believed previous to this."

"Wait," Mattie felt his heart fill with dread. "You knew this would happen? You knew my brother would stop it?"

She nodded. "No one else did Matthew. Just me-"

"Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you tell me he'd be fine?" It was as though his heart was made from ice, and her words were the heat that was beginning to melt it.

"No one can know too much of their own des-"

"Shut up," he whispered menacingly.

"Ma- Matthew?" Yekaterina began to frown. "Such hostility is unlike you."

"I asked you to shut up." He couldn't bring herself to meet her gaze. He felt sick. Physically sick. "You think you know me, but you don't."

"Matthew, I know you better than you know yourself. I've watched over you since you were born. I am the empty space between your thoughts. I am your dreams. I am your wishes. I am your Guardian, and I shall continue to protect you for another three years."

"I don't want your protection," he spat. "Your protection almost killed my brother!"

She rose to her full height, her eyes narrowed in frustration. "Matthew, why won't you understand? It was his destiny to die-"

"If it was his destiny to get hit by that truck, how come it was my destiny to save him?"

Yekaterina chuckled maliciously. "Destiny's far more complex than that, Matthew dearest. Only a select few know exactly how one is meant to die."

Matthew looked at her curiously, whilst attempting to push himself from his bed. His arm ached with his weight. "What the hell are you on about?"

"You needed to undergo the Reversal so you understood that you weren't unnoticed, that you weren't unloved," she said, a smile that could rival her sister's pressed to her lips. "And then your brother had to die."

"But destiny said the Reversal had to fail," mused Mattie, confused.

"You Americans really are stupid," sighed Yekaterina. "Your brother was never meant to be killed by the Reversal, nor by the truck. Get it now?"

Mattie's brows furrowed. "I think so...Hey! I'm Canadian!"

She chuckled again. "Then you Canadians are really slow. But you understand now?"

"I- I think so," he nodded. "You're gonna kill Al?"

To this, she threw back her head and burst into hysterics. "Me? What a foolish idea. I'm an Angel, dear Matthew. You think I'd get my hands dirty with the blood of a filthy mortal like your brother?"

He felt his hands clench into fists at the way she descirbed Alfred.

"But your almost right," her voice became quieter, calmer. "Your brother is meant to die at the hands of another. Isn't that right?"

Yekaterina turned to look at the American, who was supporting a limping, dust covered Arthur.

"Isn't what right?" asked Alfred, who had missed the entire conversation due to his frantic search for his boyfriend.

"I wasn't speaking to you," she rolled her eyes. "It's very rude to answer a question adressed to another."

Mattie felt his violet eyes grow wide. He felt the urge to throw up once more.

"Arthur?" he choked. "Arthur's gonna kill Alfred?"

Two pairs of eyes doubled in size with this accusation. "Dude, what the fuck?" cried Alfred, turning to stare at the boy who had almost been crushed by a wall.

Said boy shrugged himself from Alfred's grip, and looked pointedly at the floor.

Alfred gulped, taking Arthur's response as an answer. "You- You would really kill-"

"Of coursed not," Arthur cut him off with a stern, slightly raspy voice. "You really think I would?"

"I don't know what to think any more," Alfred admitted.

Matthew shook his head. "I don't believe any of this. Why would Destiny force someone to kill another?"

Alfred watched as Arthur, still staring intently at the floor, clenched his fist. "How long have you known?" he asked.

"What?" Arthur slowly brought his gaze up to meet Alfred's pleading blue eyes.

"How long have you known," he began, "that you were destined to kill me?"

"Al, I-"

"Please tell me that you've always known it. Please tell me that everything we had was a lie."

Arthur's brows furrowed in confusion. "Why would you want me to tell you that?"

Alfred shook his head sadly. "Because I refuse to believe that Destiny would really be this cruel."

Turning away from their conversation, Yekaterina smiled sadly at Mattie, and bid him farewell, telling him she/s see him and his brother in Heaven. Matthew bit his lip to refrain from saying something he'd later regret. He blinked and she was gone, just like that.

But the three boys were still stuck in the revelation she'd left in her wake.

"I- I didn't know until earlier today," Arthur whispered, breaking the eye contact he had with Alfred. "I came across something whilst reading; that- that murderers didn't have Guardian Angels, because no Angel wants to raise someone who's destined to kill."

Alfred clenched his fist. "And you didn't think to tell me?"

"I thought it meant the Reversal would succeed! I didn't ever dream that it would mean- that it would mean-"

He shook his head. "But it does."

"I- I would never kill you Alfred!"

"How do I know that?" the American cried. He felt betrayed, and he couldn't explain why. "How do I know that you'd never kill me if it's your fucking destiny!"

Arthur once again brought his gaze to meet Alfred's, and this time, he held the angry blue one with his own determined green. "I would never kill you."

"But it's-"

"Do you remember English earlier?" Arthur's voice made him sound as though he was about to burst into tears, which was odd, because in Alfred's experience, Arthur only had one emotion; pissed off. "Do you remember what you said?"

"Well, yeah, but that has nothing to do with-"

"You said, if the positions were reversed, if it was me who needed to cheat destiny, you would help me, like I helped you."

Alfred blinked.

Then he blinked again.

And then he blinked once more.

He could see that his silence was hurting Arthur, but he couldn't bring himself to speak.

Matthew looked at his brother, and shook his head sadly. He'd never really felt loved, and he doubted he would ever be in a position like his brother, so couldn't judge him.

But this silence was painful.

He willed his brother to say something.

Anything.

He could tell Arthur was doing it too.

Finally, the American, speaking in a voice that was barely more than a whisper, said only, "If we cheated Destiny once, what's to stop us from doing it again?"

And Mattie caught Arthur smile slightly, before he finally found enough strength to push himself out of the hospital bed, and stand on two shaky legs, before calling out to his brother, who ran to his side and helped him stand.

"Hey Al," Mattie asked, as his brother helped him change into the clothes he'd brought, "what happened to the wall?"

"Oh, that was me," mumbled Arthur, rubbing his the back of his neck sheepishly.

"Dude!" exclaimed Alfred. "You blew up the wall?"

"I was aiming for Natalia!"

Alfred began to chuckle slightly. "Me and Natalia were on the other side of the room."

Arthur muttered something like "Git" under his breath, before turning away from Matthew, who, in all honesty, felt awkward getting undressed in front of his brother, let alone Arthur, and was blushing slightly.

It made things ten times worse when Gilbert poked his head around the door and yelled, "It worked? Oh, so not awesome! I had a bet you were all gonna die unawesomely!"

Of course, Gilbert was then pulled away by his brother, who mumbled an apology.

So clearly, those two had left the room whilst everyone else was suffering from the whole wall-blowing-up incident, and decided that they had better things to do than help.

Which, quite frankly, was rather rude of them.

But, regardless of this, Mattie was soon fully clothed, and his violet eyes met Alfred's tearful blue ones.

"C'mon Mattie," he said, beaming. "Let's get you home."

...

"Mrs Jones, I'm sorry to have to contact you so early in the morning but-"

"He's dead, isn't he?"

"I'm sorry?"

"That's why you're ringing, isn't it? My son has died."

"Actually ma'am, quite the contrary. Your son seems to have woken from his coma, and then left."

"Left?"

"Yeah. And blown up the side of his room as he did it. We will be charging extra for that-"

"You've lost my son! If anything, I should be charging you extra!"

"Mom-"

"Not now Al, I'm on the phone."

"But mom-"

"Alfred, honey, not now I'm on the phone!"

"MOM!"

"WHAT? JESUS CHRIST ALFRED, I AM ON THE PH-"

She lost the remainder of her sentence to shock.

Because it wasn't Alfred who had been trying to get her attention.

She raked her gaze over the pale cheeks that were beginning to flush, the violet eyes and the shaggy hair.

"Actually sir," she said into the phone, "scratch that last part."

"But ma'am, what about your son-"

"Mattie's no longer any concern of yours," she whispered, her voice cracking as she began to cry.

"But-"

She hung up. The phone was discarded.

"Is it- Are you- M- Mattie?"

He nodded.

She wrapped her arms around him, sobbing with joy, clutching the boy she thought she had lost.

Clutching the boy who had been taken from her twice.

Clinging to the boy she'd never let go of again.

* * *

><p><strong>Extended an: **

ASKKJSKJDFKEDMSLA IT'S FINISHED!

I don't know how satisfied I am with this chapter. I thought it was kind of cute and nice, and just a good way to finish the story, but it's up to you guys really.

If it got confusing at any point, leave a review or send me a message and I'll do my best to explain.

I still can't believe I've finished. Like, at all. Heh, and I'm already wondering if I'll ever be bothered to write a sequel. I am such an odd child.

So yeah, happy endings for all! Yay! It's so unlike me that I'm struggling to believe I actually did it. But I did. YAY!

Hey, has anyone other than me ever thought that YAY looks an awful lot like a crying face? I mean, seriously, I'm going to put it a couple times more so that you realise it: YAY YAY YAY

YAY

...I will never view celebration in the same way again. Like, ever.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed and favourited and watched and read this. It's been a long process, but we made it to the end together!

And now I'm gonna thank you all some more, like people who win awards do, because literally, I could not have brought myself to write this without you all.


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